At Your Mercy
by Avrilgen
Summary: Tragedy can do so many things to one's soul and mind. Peter Parker discovers this within days after the death of the Green Goblin. Meanwhile, the people you care for have already given up on you, old enemies returning for a cold revenge and ghosts from your past resurging...when does one have time for the self-doubt? A classic story with your favorite webslinger as the protagonist.
1. Prologue

_Story Rating: **T**_

**Author's Note: **_Well, since this is my first Spider-man fic I just suggest you random reader to highly expect grammar errors as well as any other typical mistake in my writting. Feel free to comment, is what my daily-survival-elixir consists of. I assure you it will make my day. No pun intended with any reply both positive and negative comments will be helpful, some confidence boost, stuff like that, you know. And hope you like it more chapters will be added probably during the week or so, thank you for your time._

**Disclaimer:**_** None**__ of the names, objects or any other thing here is mine, not currently and probably not in the future, unfortunately for me- Marvel owns everything. This and my mind and soul._

_xXXxXXxXXxXXxXXx_

_**Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.**_

** F. Scott Fitzgerald.**

Prologue.

Numb.

From any other existent Word in the English language THAT was the one that described him the most at this very moment.

His only guess was that he was still in denial**. Still**, he thought. But who could blame him for this. And the idea of the simply inquiry enraged him with himself.

He was a destroyer.

Everything he touches either vanishes, like his parents or dies abruptly, like his uncle and now this.

And abruptly being the key word in here. It happened so fast, so sudden that it took his mind a second to process the image through his brain and now that he thinks about it and he remembers everything, and by everything it is all of it. He remembers the warehouse, the chase, the unbendable fight that took place.

The final act finally came to both of them.

_Hero against villain._

_Righteous against madness._

_Son against mentor_

He didn't believe his eyes at that instant. He really thought the gas from the goblin bombs were the ones that were affecting his mind. He has attached to that hope not long enough before it was ripped from him.

Apparently, the universe has a cruel and wicked sense of humor.

Norman Osborn was The Green Goblin.

Yes. The same atrocity and excuse of a human being, if they could dare to considered lunatics humans nowadays anyway.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The funeral started at 3:30 sharp. The air feels thick and cold against his face. His wounds are yet to be healing, but that wasn't the worst. Physically, his human body would heal eventually. God only knows how many near-fatal bruises, hits, concussions and black eyes he has received in great amount in the past. But that wasn't the point, the point is that he'll survive one way or another, he always does, unfortunately for him, a phrase he had used too many times but still does, the lives that surround him are the ones that can be blend. After all he was a fighter, a fighter with induced-arachnid extraordinary abilities. Super strength seems to come handy now and then, especially during near-death experiences, experiences that per his opinion never cease to stop. The more he fights, the more the super villains, organization, thieves, and even the ordinary people seem to want to see him fall down

**Maybe I could grant their wishes** he though bitterly how the world, his world turn upside down in a matter of seconds. It seems that whenever he reaches a delayed day, unknown forces come to him to do the only thing they can do to defeat the Spectacular Spider-man.

Break him down; they come to break him down.

**And maybe they have succeeded, because I have no idea who I am anymore.**

Am I the hero or the villain in this new era?

_New era._

This is how he named the outsider world in relation with his life now. A new era for what? To rise up again and continue to fight unceasingly against outermost foes and despicable haters in order to save the lives of faceless people everywhere or would he finally permit the momentum of life to push him inside the never-ending abyss, a place where he would be able to finally forget, to finally rest.

Death.

Everything seems dead in here. From the crisp and cold wind indicating the lasting traces of the winter in the quarter week of March, to the dark brown leaves moving along the field in the Mortuary. With one quick glance you could see the sheer amount of money a place like this could cost, the trees have perfect asymmetrical cuts, just as the bunches and the flowers. The flowers seem to be the only thing alive here. They weren't alive like him, breathing through lungs and heart beating with genetic-altered blood. No, they were alive because they were growing by themselves, perhaps it was a forgot task by the gardener, that's the first idea logic tells you, but logic doesn't govern you or your life. Life is weight through boundaries. Boundaries that were stated by either you or somebody else, it doesn't matter who or what placed them there, what we can be sure about is the reason why they're placed.

_To limit us._

Limit both our mistakes and achievements.

They bring balance; they bring stability and an understanding.

**Another broken thing in him**

People arrived, and one by one the chairs were filled with the bodies of strangers, strangers at least for him. Some were wealthy, others were famous and some were known for him. He didn't want to look for any known of him. **I guess that's hypocrite of me but I'm sorry but I can't. I don't have enough strength to stand up; I'll probably break before the first hello.**

The Interim CEO Of Oscorp, Martin Newman, a tall 6'1 Caucasian man with a golden blonde hair stood in the front of the podium. His eyes were a deep blue but they radiated a coldness he instantly related to Norman himself, he heard Oscorp was seeking out for a newly and fresh figure, one who would be able to stand with the company but it looks like their range of change was pretty dense, apart from the physical figure he seems to be in between 40 to 50 years and from experience he knew the tight smile he portrayed was anything but sincere.

**Well let's hope he's not an evil psychopath who wants to kill me, let's hope, yeah, based on my previous luck he'll end up being a reptile-type alien or something.**

He mentally slapped himself but decided to leave life-threatening inquiries out of his mind for a while. At least for the time being after all he has a lot of thinking to do. So at last expanse he decided to pay attention to the empty words of Martin Newman.

"_Good afternoon ladies and gentleman, this afternoon, my fellows, we have come to be gathered to a calamitous event. This day is day were we will give the final goodbye to one of the most known visionaries of the century. Norman Osborn. His death was both shocking and devastate for everybody who knew him. I knew personally Norman Osborn and I'll dare to say, in here standing next to him, that he had the most honest, pure and outstanding mind I've had ever seen in my entire life. And trust me-_

**Okay, okay. Yep, he's an ass kisser with a master in the art of stupidity and useless acting, he's not even a good- ah never mind. But even fools have their glory day, apparently.**

-_but the joyful stories may be for another day, today we came to honored and remember the great achieves and glorious moment of the lost life of Norman Osborn. Accidents happen and even to the most unthinkable people-_

**You have no idea**

_-But today with a final glance we say farewell Mr. Osborn have a good time in the afterlife. Is there anybody in the audience who will like to speak in behalf of the loss of this righteous man, Norman Osborn, a man we have come to honored today, in this late afternoon"._

Utter silence filled the room. No one raise their hands, so Newman held the microphone once again and clear his throat loudly. Peter looked over the huge crowd and saw no one raising their hands, but obviously he knew better than to expect anything. They were in the "Garden of Memories", the land, obviously was one of the most expensive one in New York City. And the room was filling with at least a hundred and one business-like people. He knew most of them were here more to accomplish a schedule or scratch a date from their never -ending agendas than to mourn a loss, so no hope there. Peter scanned a little more and catches a glimpse of several news media, from the local channel new to the Daily Bugle. He was on duty and in direct order from Jameson to cover the event with enough photos of everything and everything, he made very clear that he wanted everything from the color of his shoes to the size of the ceiling, but threaten to fired him if he got a shot of those things. So as a force of habit Peter started doing that, he took hold of his camera lenses and began to seek for anything at all.

He turned around…business associates, Stark Industries, Hammer Multinational, Roxxon Oil Company… **I can't believe they all arrive considering they hate each other, well business is business**… press, more press, secretary…

"_Alright well in that case with that said I present to you his dear and only son and heir to Oscorp, Harry Osborn"_

Newman along the crowd fell into a cascade of applause and his best friend appear beneath it. He watched as Harry stood in front of the public fidgeting a little with his tie, obviously nervous to speak, but at the end always did.

Bu he didn't listen to what was he saying, in that moment when he saw Harry memories began to flow freely through his mind, memories that he had tried to block from his mind at day and night from his mind. But as always the mind is always a treacherous place, it attacks you whenever it wants. It was worse than a nightmare, worse than the torture the symbiote gave him. That was different, it wasn't real, at that instant at least, now he imagines the sheer mockery he will receive from that parasite, from the symbiote and the Venom. They were right, at the end he will always suffer, on one way or another.

Memory after memory

Invaded his mind, he was held captive.

_He laughed but it wasn't a genuine one. The sound was torn and so broken that it sounded more like, like a whimper. But what was he sorry about. But as quickly as it came, a flash glance through his eyes. His face was unreal from emotion._

_He swallows all the words, demands and questions that shot in his mind so forcefully that it hurt._

_It hurt to know that your long time archenemy was in fact your best friend's father._

_It hurt to know who he was._

_It hurt to see the utter pain that cross Harry Osborn's face the moment he finally saw his father, his very own father in the Green Goblin suit._

_It really hurt when the unmasked Osborn grasped him and dragged him farther into his horrid game._

_But he didn't regret the discovery, he didn't regret the battle what he did regret was the __**death.**_

**Death.**

Norman Osborn _**is**_ dead.

It was **his** fault.

All the memories from that dreadful day were now and forever trapped in his own worst battlefield, his mind.

The final act was at the end the only, real truth behind the encounter. It happened just two days ago but the guilt of the tragedy was unbearable. He tried, really had tried to get his mind off things, disconnect from the world at least for a second. But this wish was never granted for someone like Peter Parker. His life, he realized now was a series of unfortunate events, one behind another as if the universe was waiting for a certain peak point moments in his life were much to the cosmos convenience, he was relatively happy or at least what you could suppose until certain level, at peace.

Nevertheless, he has had realized since long time ago, since the day he had put on the Spider-man costume, the red and blue soon enough became a symbol for everybody. It became the signal of a new era for not only New York City, but for the world as well. Spider-man was not an opportunist publicity stunt for anybody nor a suspected and currently accused vigilante that everybody, especially J. Jonah Jameson, owner of the Daily Bugle and current boss of him guessed of him.

He was or rather he thought a **hero.**

But that idea was long time gone. He forgot everything or rather he wishes he could only touch a switched to shut down his own thoughts, his ideas, his mind, his guilt, he wished to his very core he could simply wash all the scars, to erase all of his mistakes and to ignore the repercussions to said actions.

He wished he could shut down the main reason for this nightmare.

And then it down on him. His mind literally clicked, finally.

_**Spider-man.**_

It was his fault. Not his, Peter Parker's fault. Why? Because Peter Parker was just a simple, ordinary, plain teenage 16-year-old boy who gleefully attended the Midtown Manhattan Magnet High School. He is an honored and disciplined well-known student. He has the most perfect and the gentlest woman on earth as his maternal aide, non other than his Aunt May Parker. Peter Parker is mostly an introverted boy who manages on everything. Peter Parker is a good person. He doesn't kill people and never will.

The sheer opposite of the Spider-man.

Your oh-not-so-friendly neighborhood is a man who shadows behind a disguise. He tries to portray a public persona for the people he protects, and he does it to protect himself. _**Selfish**_**, He's selfish**. Yes, he saves people, yes; he has saved so many that nobody could ever have counted them. Yet, he hides. He hides from the world. He arrives, he fights and he goes. This is his cycle. It's perpetual and subconsciously it brings him peace upon himself. But why? Why hiding? Why disguising? Perhaps he's scare. From what? He has powers that protect him; he can defeat any obstacle you challenged him with. Can he?

_**Can I?**_

Peter shakes his head from side to side, at least that's the only thing he can do to only try to stop his train of thought. He can't help it, ever since the night of the death of Norman Osborn -the same night that happens to be the one where his nemesis The Green Goblin fell once and for all-, since then he can stop the feeling of helplessness.

He feels helpless simply because he doesn't know what to do now. Peter doesn't know which path to travel and which he should not put a foot on. Truth be told he doesn't know what to do at all.

If it wasn't for Aunt May's daily remainders for eating, Peter strongly believes he would have starved to death a long time ago.

He has mess up, **big time**, and that been the understatement of the year or century. And where to start from.

Well, he has messed up with all of his friends. **Well, IF they still can be called my friends, as far as I know more than half of them hate me or either ignores me completely by now.**

He sighs. He's frustrated and mostly irritated with himself for letting all of this happen. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Right now he can still see the old times, the ones where he was laughing with his best friends like there was no care for the world, the ones where he believes he was content with life.

He opens his eyes again and his crystal-clear orbs recaptured the image in front of him, and even do he knows the process in which the human brain processes the slides of graphic objects and actions that the eyes' retina has captured and at the end proceed to name said object -or in this case event- with the information beholden by said person's brain, the brain works 'till he fills the blanks. Still, Peter can't bring himself to believe it. He didn't want to believe, and yet here he was. What was he or rather what were they doing? And the most definitely he didn't want to believe, that all this was relatively his fault.

**Relatively, yeah, don't think so.** He thought**, I did this, and to him, to everyone, to me. All of my current problems are MY fault, only mine. And I'll more than anyone else knows that I'll have to resolve them by myself.**

He knew what he was going to do and why he was doing it.

Harry stopped and he glanced over the audience through his clouded eyes questioningly.

"_Evening everybody. I, well, first of all I-we, all of us appreciate the truthful words that were spoken by Mr. Newman. It's true that my father was a visionary; his dream was to improve parameters of science as much as he could. He wanted the future to be a better place but unfortunately his hope for a better future was ripped from him the moment he died."_

At this moment Harry stopped momentarily to take a deep breath. After he composed himself he continued

"_My father wanted a brighter and better future and Oscorp and I will grant his wishes. Oscorp will be the leader to great things and I along Mr. Newman, its new CEO will try our best to accomplish this and many other things. This way we know his memory will be honored in the way he'll want it, with great pride. Thank you for your time and have a good evening."_

And with that he descended the stairs without another glance, the paparazzi took photos of Harry in every position he was. Even Peter was doing it, just for the sake of Jameson and his ears too, but every photo showed him what he didn't want to see.

Sadness, a miserable expression.

But he knew that was not the only one Harry felt.

Hatred and anger go hand in hand.

Harry hated him, well, he hated Spider-man not Peter Parker. But Peter knew that conveniently they were the very same.

**A painful irony. My life is a painful irony, **he thought. **Sometimes I feel like I am inside the world's biggest soap opera, me being the masked man and waiting for the fat lady to finally sing my end.**

Oh but that end never came. He was bitten by a radioactive-and-genetic-reprogrammed spider but he swears to anybody at all that he has more lives than a cat.

Which when you think about it, most people will consider it a **blessing**, but for him it was just a **curse** from life**. Too much is at stake for my life only.**

He fidgeted with his tux. The same one he always uses to these events, Uncle Ben's tux. The suit doesn't fit him completely but right now with all the bruises he recently acquired, the size is perfect. He wanted more than anything to leave this place. He was suffocating himself already, **don't misunderstand me but the guilt has his ways to torn people from the inside out.**

The manager announced they were ready to take the coffin for the burial. Everybody stood up from their places and quietly follow. Peter retreated back from the group a fair amount of distance. He hid behind a tree to compose himself. He was sweating, cold drops scurried his face. He needed to calm down, but the problem was whenever he looked at Harry he saw the face of the Goblin too. More than unnerving it was disturbing. Within a few more minutes, and a few more shaky breaths he returned to the group without a single thought.

He glanced around and came to a stop abruptly. He saw them; he saw the resolute solemnness in their faces. And most importantly he noticed the girl of his dreams standing next to them. He focuses on her and saw her sorrow written expression and felt so guilty in that instance. He couldn't stand to look at her right now; to any of them for the matter and he knew that they won't be too disturbed by the idea of him avoiding them, appreciated may be implied word here.

Peter continued to seek and yet continue to see the same demeanor in all the people, uninterested. That saddened and pained him more. While he knew personally the man and knew that he wasn't the best friend material, the idea of your own funeral being just another social event, well to say he pitied Osborn was an understatement. **At least I'm feeling something actually** he concluded, he and Flash and the others were the closest ones to be feeling anything at all. **Gwen being the winner there.**

He knew what she felt and he was more than sure about his feelings for her, but reality hits hard he knew that in order to keep her life at bay he had to be out of her life. The mere idea twisted his insides and he knew he will remorse that decision forever, for the rest of his life, the one he knew will be short lived because, please, he risked his life on a regular basis for random, faceless people who may or may not be thankful to him afterward. Nonsensical was, but he did it anyway.

The doubt for her, for his alter-ego and for his near future and actions were terrifying him.

But even do he knew he had to be here, it was the least he could do, not for himself, and definitely not for Osborn. He felt anger with himself for letting it happen but he knew he didn't die because of him. Norman Osborn died by his own hand. The same hands that created the driving madness, the main and direct reason for his dead, The Green Goblin.

He knew he was innocent, then why did he feel so _guilty?_

He ran a hand through his face and sigh inwardly to not drive attention to him. The last thing he wanted it was for somebody like say Gwen or Harry to found him, and knowing how well they know him they would know something was wrong and Peter knowing them knew that they were going to ask him until he say something.

**Stupid.** He chastised himself. **Do you really think they will care for your own feelings right now, especially Harry, he just lost his father just two days ago he's mourning heavily, you more than anybody else knows better. YOU ARE at his father's funeral for crying out loud!**

And he knew better, for more reasons than most people could even think about. He knew twice the information he should. On other hand he knew how it feels to lose a close one, his parents, his uncle Ben. And apart from that he knows about the shock and fear Harry felt, after the Green Goblin reveled himself as non other that the rigid head of Oscorp, Norman Osborn, he knows because he felt it too, briefer but the intensity of the moment was more than enough to endure in one person's mind for plenty of time. **And his body also** he thought grimacing inwardly.

The last battle, while it didn't kill him it left him in pretty bad condition. Not even the Sinister Six had managed to drown him so much. But neither the said villains died in the middle of it.

**Stop. I need to stop thinking, it's difficult but I want to hear and see everything right now and- What are you doing Harry**

He saw Harry walked toward Gwen when the coffin was being buried.

He instead of punish himself with images of Harry and Gwen embracing each other walked instead forward in order to farewell his long time enemy.

He stopped walking and looked down, he knew the coffin was empty. They didn't find any remaining part from his body, he knew nobody, not even genetic-altered persons, were able to survive to that. He blew into a million pieces. Ever since that night Peter wonder what would had been if Osb- the Green Goblin had succeeded. He knew that that trap at the water tank was the Goblin's back up plan, lead him there and with the help of any mischievous way he would have under his wrist at the moment, blow him up to the stratosphere in a million pieces.

And again the universe said no to that, apparently.

The painful irony took admonish of the Green Goblin that night.

He was too lost to be saved.

But even do the what if remains.

**It doesn't matter he's dead. Yes, the Goblin said it himself only one of them will win and remain at end.**

He remained but he doesn't feel like he won.

**One thing, though you teach me Goblin.**

Peter gave his fallen nemesis one last glance.

**You show me the meaning of a hero,**

_**Tragedy.**_

And with that, he drew toward the exit and didn't look back.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**_ _Ah right. So, tell me, have you ever experience that awkward moment when you updated the wrong chapter. Yeah*smiles sheepishly* I felt it with last chapter. That's why I'm asking for a slight amnesia from your part. That's right. Let's forget about the previous chapter and read this again._

_Please.*bats eyelashes* Common._

_I'm not much to beg, but a beggar of your reading, actually._

_Never mind you random reader._

_**P.S.**_ _Just a pointer: The italics are memories from the past. The others without any effect are actually what's happening on the dream. The bold italics are his voice on his head commenting about everything. And the bold mean the random remarks in the story._

_0_0_

_Now that I say it (read it), out loud it does sounds rather **difficult. **Doesn't it? Nah_

_It's complicated but the chapter it's a dream sequence, you know how incoherent our dreams are sometimes, and there's never just a single one involved, researchers say we have an estimated of 14 dreams during all night. That and-_

_You know our dear ol' Peter, always speaking about something and thinking about another stuff at the same time._

_I hope you understand it, I know it looks weird. But, bear it with me. I'm weird._

_Let's read!  
********************************************************************_

**_You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories._**

**-Stanislaw Jerzy Lec**

Chapter 1

_Stop._

**The best things are for those who purchased it first.**

He smiles sadly at the memory of Uncle Ben lightly ruffing his hair only while he straightens his tux perfectly.

He remembers every little detail as it was a yesterday occurrence.

And that makes everything less bearable.

What is this?

"_Pete! Man, can you believe it." Harry yelled as he laughed at the game they were playing._

_He and Flash used to be good friends in preschool-_

"_Mr. Osborn?" he asks politely to the elder man._

"_Peter, you do know you can call me Norman, don't you" he smiled, it was weird, but it looked_ fake.

"_Look at that! Am I wrong or is it the Nerd Parker here!" Flash pushed him and the rest of his followers laughed at his antics. He_ _threw his books to the ground. "Glad you have my homework, Parker." He shoved the paper from his hands. "See you in class!" His laughed echoed the hallway._

"_Peter? Please stop being childish, I'll meet you on the Lab." Gwen smiled kindly and walked away._

_He waved__._

_**No. No. No**_

_As far as he has seen for the last couple of months he had been coming here, he has learned since the first day that inside this house was a complicated relationship among its cohabitants, that there is a deliberate characteristic of the Osborn Residence, there's a thick, imaginary line that separates everything here._

_Family and business._

_Emotions and Politeness._

_Anger and Indifference._

_There's always something that enables communication and at the same time says _everything.

**I have enough of this.**

"_**Yes. Stop it. Why, what it's this, what did I did? What unforgettable crime did I originate? I-"**_

_The far future._

"_**I can't do this. Not this.**_" _**He begged. His voice thick with emotion.**_

**The images were so clear, so real, that he found himself longing for them. The emotions he felt were reviving on his mind once again. One by one they echoed on his head. The voices and whispers.**

"_**I-there's no need for this! Stop! Whoever, Please." He yelled into the space. No answer came.**_

**His meager pleas were ignored by the atrocity that was forcefully infusing him with this overflowing memories.**

**He was left to be a _spectator,_**

**A mere _watcher _of his life.**

He exhales loudly to calm himself down.

A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder followed closely by a concerned yet reassuring voice_._

"Pete?"

"_**Uncle Ben? Is-is that you?" he stuttered not quite believing.**_

He looked around the darkness.

It felt as ages before his reaction finally brought him back from his trance. He blinked, opened his mouth to respond but instead found himself producing a sound between a cough and a whimper.

"Peter"

"_**Uncle Ben"**_

This time the voice was inferred with a more forceful edge into it.

He saw a door behind Uncle Ben, he saw his expression.

The direct command was clearly implied that he found himself giving in without a fight. He turned around slowly, but either way complying easily_._

Strangely, he was now inside his aunt's house.

But the feeling of being watch didn't go away.

He sat down in the sofa in the middle of the living room, in front of the TV, one that was turn on, the channel was a news reports. He didn't pay much attention to what were each one were saying he was more worried about the muffled sounds and quiet whispers he heard in the dark surrounding around him.

\- "The head of the police department, Captain George Stacy, confirmed this afternoon our speculations and fears. The recent and continuous robberies in the east side of the city were made by the same thief, one that has managed to elude our officers too many times throughout the years. Also, known as "the Black Cat", a name that he's reference only. We know that the police constantly efforts will at the end bring fruit. If you see him, don't approach him, he's unpredictable and highly dangerous, get in touch with the polic-

Click

"Hey, I was-

"_**Ignoring the report about the main reason on why my life took a life changing turn and ended up being a play of downward hopelessness oh wait- that was the useless spider. That was my agonizing remainder of what may have been **__if_

"_Oh Peter! My boy, what happen, who did this to you?" Aunt May cried when she saw the mark on his arm" What is it?" she asked worriedly._

"_Aunt May, it's nothing, it was just an accident in the excursion." he replied easily. He wasn't sure, but he wouldn't worried her for nothing. He examined his wrist again and smiled to her troubled aunt. _

"_Just a simple spider bite, don't worry. It'll go away in no time. I'll be fine." he assured to both of them._

"_Are you sure?" she asked once more._

"_Yes." he told her easily. Hope on his voice._

**No was the reality.**

_**Open your eyes and wait for the light. The light is gone, the light shall return. You have to wait, just wait, Peter, just wait.**_

_He observed the silence exchange words between his uncles and instantly knew what was coming and has no idea what to do._ _He heard them discussing a couple of weeks ago about Uncle Ben's job, saying how they were spreading rumors inside the plant about some considerably monetary loss this year in the market. And about how they were speculating for massive layoffs around the whole company to happen and that they were probably going to start with the eldest staff, meaning as Uncle Ben shall be an option to be cut off first._

_Those were his little family's real problems not some kids bothering him around. He was still a kid, and he knew the best way to help was to try to retrieve all the possible stress and tension any parent could get from the responsibility of taking care of a teenage boy. And how may he make that heavyweight, the weight of having him, less stressful for them._

_By being practically invisible._

**Imagine what a better world it would be**

The sound of someone clearing his throat and a gentle squeeze in his shoulder interrupted his train of thought

"I- Uncle Ben are you mad?" he questioned stammering nervously.

"_**Because I didn't save you" he clarified on his mind.**_

He smiled and turned away and began walking toward some door in the corner, the single light on the obscureness of this place. Peter cautious followed behind, not knowing if his death may follow too.

Uncle Ben sat in an old sofa and gestured for Peter to sit down too. Peter did as told.

He looked at Peter up and down, as he was studying him.

"You're bigger. Look at the man you're now." he marked proudly about the fact.

"Bigger on size, but smaller in the significance of wisdom." He sighed deeply, he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Tired of everything.

Uncle Ben just watched him, anticipating something from him.

**But he had enough.**

"Okay, okay that's enough, Uncle Ben. I swear please, stop." he murmured.

"**I just want to hear your voice again, soothing me down, everything will be okay, we are okay, I'm okay,-**

"Talk then" he replied kindly. A gentle smile on his face, he was waiting for him to be ready.

He wasn't.

"Okay, I-wait give me that first" he signaled to nothing in particular.

"_**Your hand, your life, let me hold to it; right now I'm think I'm falling-**_

_Jesus. I have a problem, seriously._

"_**You have not a single idea"**_

"I think the show's over Uncle Ben." he finally says. A frown on his face. "Spider-man is similar to a show, a sort of spectacle you know, I arrived and fight as there's no tomorrow, I give my life for them, to all of them!" he breathed out quickly, his rant not stopping. His uncle Ben was here, he won't lose the opportunity to talk to him and to hear his advice.

He needed it.

"Sometimes they cheer me, but sometimes everyone come against me. I can't change their minds! I try, I really try, but they won't listen to me. And that's not even the fourth part of my problems. I-I don't know what to do." he whispered the last part, ashamed of his incompetent attitude.

He stood up and sat dramatically in the sofa just to get Uncle Ben's attention to him, from him.

He exhales and inhales immense amount of air and just stops for his lungs to be refueled briefly enough to survive. He blinks tiredly, and tries his best to recover from such an intense outburst and now that his brain seems to respond-

He realizes.

"_**I'm a disaster, I'm a disgrace, and I'm a dishonor to everything you believe, everything you believe of me**__-_

He remembers.

"_**I've kill him, no I didn't. I did, no I did not I-**_

More precisely, he recalls his recent memory. He remembers to what breach his mouth went and madly demands that stupid brain of his that seems to put him in more lines of fire than anything else.

But just as he was about to denied himself, a pair of strong and amiable arms held him trapped. Each held him away from his thoughts, held him from his fears and held him from his insecurities.

He feels safe.

"_**I'm not safe, nobody around me IS safe, in fact I endangered them, ALL of them I'm sorry-**_

"They want jeopardize that pure brilliancy you have there and to make you fall in your own uncertainty, whatever dry feelings they may shot against you, know you need to stand where you are. Don't let them the chance to crumble you and neither should you do it.

They'll be many people who would love to watch you fell down but you kid, shouldn't give them that pleasure instead prove them wrong. Never lose that path Peter, not even because I'm not here anymore."

"Don't lose yourself either, right kid"

"_**I lost Uncle Ben, I forgot, I am a forlorn." He exclaimed.**_

Uncle Ben simply smiled at this, a gesture warm and real, from the same kind he became too attach to-dependent from it until some extent- that he feels, no, he knows he'll be lost without him.

He feels in home.

This is his home.

And he never, ever should leave his home.

He can't.

_**I can't.**_

_**Uncle Ben**_

_**Don't leave.**_

_**Don't let me again.**_

He or rather his mind flicked on and decided to have his own will.

_They don't want anything in exchange, not his brains, his lack of personal defense and clearly nothing at all. Nothing, except, his friendship. His two best friends._

"_**No go away! I don't want you close to me! Go! Leave!"**_

He shook his head, his body collapsing under him. His knees hit the ground, his palms sensing the ground under him, cold and empty. Just as him, he has fell too many times, one following the other, in a rapid succession of events that he doesn't remember a time when they weren't closer than now. Maybe they should be friends.

"_**A friend or a foe, I don't know the difference anymore, was there even a dejecting line that cornered both adversaries into a colliding point of separation. I don't know."**_

I don't know.

Funny. It shall be if it wasn't despondently.

And we were once best friends, the sky and me. I used to have the ease of a flying eagle, observing and protecting his reign. But now he became the illustrator for-he really knew and expected-a long-term, life changing _failure._

The spider failed on him. It choose the wrong person.

He's a disgrace, this powers are not worthy for him.

Useless each one are, as him.

Just as him.

Ah never mind, maybe one day they'll be reunited once again.

Maybe one of these days.

In the future.

**The future?**

_**What- I am on it, am I it?**_

_**My name, what is my name? Name? What's a name?**_

_**Do I have one? What does it mean?**_

_**Peter. Peter Parker, that's right**_

"_**I have one, always have actually and it doesn't mean anything or does anything other than a perception. I-"**_

"_I'm Gwen Stacy." she acknowledged shyly._

**Gwen. No**

_**You shouldn't know me, do yourself a favor and ignore me, forget me.**_

_**Everyone around me falls down with me. Stand too close and you'll be withdrawn into unsoundness.**_

**Please go.**

"_And I'm Peter Parker, you're the new girl, right?" he asked kindly._

_She nodded._

_They smiled at each other, the girl lost in the other's eyes and the other smiling, clueless of the moment._

_**Clueless of the dangerous and fatality this shall be for her.**_ **Stop**

_Harry appeared._

**Maybe he'll stop me.**

"_So I'm Harry and you guys-what are you doing?" he asked curiously._

_Gwen blushed and Peter smiled._

"_This is Gwen-_

"_Stacy, right? New girl, daughter of the police Captain." he finished for him and smiled at her._

"_Really? I didn't know that." Peter said surprised and turned to Gwen, who nodded in affirmation._

"_Really." she confirmed._

"_Alright. So…?" Peter asked, interrupting the rest and glanced over Harry. "You were going to ask me something, Harry?" Peter questioned the red headed boy._

"Ah_. Right. So, you want to go out, my order, there's a place I love to go when my dad's in meetings-_

"_Meetings?" inquired curiously the blond girl._

"_Yeah, Oscorp and stuff like that." Harry vaguely replied._

"_Yes. Oscorp as in Oscorp, the magnum corporate state..." Peter started to explain, but was cut off dead by Harry's groan._

"_Yeah, yeah, bo-ring, common Peter, I don't want to talk about business that's what my father is for or not" he told them and he rolled his eyes._

_They ended being in an unstoppable storm of laughter, that, well, was not unstoppable after the sound of the bell rang through the Midtown's hallways._

That day, destination was placed into each of the youngsters' lives, a destination, that shall be fulfilling of senselessness _**regret.**_

**Regret.**

_**Do I have one? What does it mean?**_

_**Who are you?**_

He glanced over the place and saw mere darkness only. In the site no sky, no day or night, no celestial beings or terrestrial for the matter were seen in any corner. He was on a place devoid of life, of existence. But, he sensed an overflowing air. Crisp and brittle. Where was he?

_**Time? What time was it? **_**I don't understand**.

_Understand it then, Peter you're a smart kid._

**A terse shiver crossed his spine, from the end to the top were the sensation just took advantage and decided to crawl to his body and covered it all over in a cryptic dance.**

That voice.

He had heard it before.

_Sleep, sweet dreams my boy_.

**And with that the inexplicable blackness overtook him once again.**

**Author's Note: **Okay. Weird?

This was the original version of the chapter. (The corrected and slightly polished version)The previous you saw was definitely not. I rather say it was a summation of mixed-up ideas on an extremely hot day. My mind was lost, quite literally. But now I'm found. And I already have a plan for this story. I'll update probably tomorrow, hopefully.

Promises,

_Aprilgen98_


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** _Ah ha! Here is it! (Bear with me the half of the chapter that was already saw in my awkward moment of error.) The Chapter 2, let's see how our hero is doing, shall we?_

_Oh. And I don't own Superman. I don't have any problem with him, his mention is for pure comical business._

_I don't own anything. Really. _

_Let's read!_

xXXxXx

_"**IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding!"**_

**Laurie Halse Anderson.**

Chapter 2

Peter brusquely sat up in bed, causing as so, a direct disagreement with his body. Bruises pained, muscles tensed, a head throbbed meaning.

He was in pain.

Physically.

Mentally.

A metaphysical pain?

_Oh. Jeez congratulations, Parker you're finally losing your mind, about time…_

Aside from the usual existential accordant ranting in his head and the weird twitch his left eye had, Peter felt as good as he has ever been.

_What a lie. Kids don't learn this, lying is bad, if you lie, well you'll end up as me._

And right now, as much as he loves to make Peter Parker' self-pity party so early in the morning, even do he really wanted to that, it's actually late, _really_ late.

Peeking over his newly-created mess of once upon a time was a dear bed _the same __Aunt May will__really want me to clean_ he sees the real time being-

7: 41 am.

**Well, now it's says 7:42**

Needless to say, our fearless hero became a frantic wreck in a blink of an eye.

But only while his body and half of his brain was mildly concentrated on the given task, the other more impetuous semi of his brain was absolutely distracted. In reality his mind always has known the foreign ways of wandering at unforgiven times such as in the middle of heated battles. Always knowing what to say and never stopping to think about it more than a nanosecond to assure himself he's not screaming his name or something.

He didn't know what was happening within him. This was becoming a constant and doubtless pattern.

Dream

Memory

Voice

Memory

Blankness

Voice

Obscureness

_Daylight_

And just as that, he returned to the land of the living, sure-enough alerted and _quite _unnerved.

He thinks or better suspects that this is not a simple ordinary disturbance in his brain activity, and he holds tightly to that thought owning to the case that these events started to happen two weeks, not long enough, after the Goblin's Funeral.

_Rookie's mistake._ Remember just you and Harry knew about Osborn's double face.

_**Maybe they saw us fighting.**_

That had a little more logic; after all life-deciding battles with your arc nemesis in that are to be _private._

_Everybody should know by now. What kind of manners do they teach now? Seriously, that's why the world doesn't progress _he thought confidently.

Not in the middle of the street, or well, on the 60nth floor of a skyscraper.

He'll try to remember _that_ next time.

_**Next time?**_ _Since when am I such an optimist? Seriously, now I know my brain is been affected by this anonymous new threat._

But even do they did fight in the vast openness of the concrete jungle of NYC, they were really too high up to be spotted as anything more than a plane or Superman.

_I need a better PR team manager, my non-existent one is not working at all, not a bit. New Yorkers still, either ignore me or hate me to death or worst confuse me with a fictional character that, by the way, is not as cool as I am._

And he knew better, that between the inclusive options, the first one was way more conformable with him.

_Probability 1, Coincidence 99_

But even in that case,

This _someone_ needed to have other ways to get around. And maybe, this, him or her -after Silver Sable and Black Cat's rough lessons about the gender equality he knows better to not enable the count of this idea as a possibility, he shall never_, ever_ again doubt to the feminine power- should be planning anything and everything right now.

And now, effortlessly he says that there's a high, not possibility, more an _expectancy_ for a new villain to cast itself away from the cover of anonymity.

But how is he doing it? Magic? Mutant powers? Mind control?

He relates this kind of games to Mysterio. Mind games are his specialty. But he's still in jail. As everybody else.

_Vulture, Shocker and his fools gang, Rhino, even Liz's brother is there._ He glooms at the name.

_Liz. Another thing in my to-do list that never cease to end, apparently. _He sighs at the remembrance.

_Let's backtrack to the mysterious enemy again._ Right now, it seems a happier thought compared to the hatred-evil eyes he receives from Liz and her friends. Specially Sally. _But, she seems ecstasy with the idea of Liz finally single, in liberty I think she said last week..._

So, super villains.

They're in a high-and heavy guarded prison. Their security systems were provided by the best technological companies. It's even better than the last one they ask him to _try._

_Yeah, try. They almost kill me in there. _He scowls indignantly. _That's what happens when I'm kind and helpful. People normally are rewarded, well, I'm better. I'm always to this point of being kill. Nice._

He places his backpack on the night stand and starts to look for his shirt.

_Actually, I should do a head count of Manhattan's dear villainies. Haven't done one in a while. Let's see Octopus, flee to god knows where. Sand-man, haven't seen him since he save me from the sinking ship._

He's fixed confused by that but ignores the problem until the moment requires it again.

He puts on his pants, groaning when he touches a particular spot on his tight, he ignores it too.

_Okay, who else...Electro, he's inside Doctor Connors's psychic package, along with Eddie and Captain Jameson. _He lowers his head lightly, his shirt and pants put already. Shoes out of sight, but he stops. _Eddie and the Captain._ He shakes his head and knees on the floor, in search for his shoes, his arms extends to get them.

He knits brows. _Eddie, at least Venom is no more. And Jonah's son, well, he's alive right? There's always a price to pay, though._

He ignores the ache again, and continues the head count.

_Hammerhead, Silver Sable, and Big man are on prison too. That's a win, isn't it? The crime organizations aren't that organize, not without the heads of the chain are nowhere to be seen._

_Speaking of Crimes, Black Cat. I haven't see her smooth bank robberies since the ah event._

The event being him stopping her from saving her father, the killer of his uncle.

_That's too dark. No. Don't go there, Parker. After that dream, definitely no. _He goes to the mirror and scans his appearance, accepting it as public descent, he searches for his socks. All while thinking of the dream, it was vivid. He did felt there. He felt...a lot of things, at the same time.

_**Has being happening lately.**_

_Too much for my like._ He answers back.

The headcount seems partly exasperating for the missing villains, partly satisfied with the already imprisoned ones, partly miserable for the mind of the lost ones, partly paranoid for the recent silence. Partly, Partly, Partly…

Let's say there's plenty of parts. _Great, I know._

_I just hope I'm enough for everything._

Then, the main issue, of the now present dispute, was that this time the fight wasn't against physical-sized-formidable adversaries, instead it was now, apparently, against _boneless_ enemies. Enemies who decided to attacked him during his undeniable infirm moments.

At the potent night.

In his unsteady dreams or _nightmares_. He didn't know how to allocate them, the thing he knew was-

_Oh. Shit I'm screwed. I'll be definitely late now. I can't. Principal Ronald said-_

All the while he dresses, ponders, and hops in one foot seeking for his lost sock, he oh-not-so surprisingly falls, _hard_ into the floor. Throwing down as so the lamp from his bedside, his backpack, who, at the moment, had his algebra, physics, geometry AND Psychology textbook oh and a bottle of water, luckily for him, plain full and securely closed.

And now standing or rather lying down in his back tangled around bed sheets, papers and _oh_ look at that, his lost sock, was now covering his right eye. At these scenarios, he can't help but laugh, and he guesses nobody else wouldn't lose the chance to laugh about themselves but off course the sound was not more than a light chuckle. He didn't need for his Aunt May to think he really lost his mind. No thank you.

_Huh._

_Behold New York City, your Spectacular Spider-man staring another glorious day. Hooray for me. If I'm fine? Off course I am…not_

_Better see it the bright side._

_**And that is...**_

_Apart from my dignity, pride, muscles, and credibility as a super-human being… my sense of humor is__**intact**_**.**

**Ha **_**ha**_**, **_after all, new enemy or not, maybe I'll survive this day._

His words were about to be prove out.

Little did he knew that _this _was merely the start.

The beginning of the new _aeon._

_The end of the personage of a hero._

_The downward slope for the Spider-man and Peter Parker._

Not that _he_ knew that.

The other did.

XxxXxxX

**Somewhere near the Northern Eastern Hemisphere.**

_**The place was humid. But the accommodations that were made to it make it fair enough for the living of a human being. **_

_**There he was. Sitting down. The world mourn his loss and he was sipping a coffee carelessly of everything.**_

"_Target selected and classified as human species- correcting species unknown" _said a monotone voice from a computer.

"_Foreign biological aspects found along user." _the computer answered after some minutes of scanning.

"Scan the body." Said a voice full of command and edged with pleasure and pride.

"_Full-body scans processing"_ the voice-a she-said again_. "Unable to do such command-_

"What do you mean 'unable' to do so, I didn't stole you for-

"_Detecting a high rise of blood pressure along user-_

"FOR ANYTHING!" the receptor of the voice revealed himself from the shadows with such a fury that if the receptor of it, wasn't a machinery, you can assure yourself that any other bystander will be fearing from their lives in this instant after seeing the man's eyes and as such, soul.

He stopped mid-way to destroy the senseless program away from his patience, but at the end, decided against it, knowing and remembering the reason he was here and to rather _who_ his anger should be driven to.

He smiled but anything from it was a naturally gesture of content, **no**, this was one full of riven lunacy.

"Run all the data to the hardware, and any future one also" he calmly solicited. Too calm.

"_Processing new user commands on the database…commands had been applied…processing new data…reviewing…" _the voice trailed off the process, but he didn't listen.

"Good. Very good. "He replied absent minded. His attention drove to his memories. He closed his eyes, knowing all the pieces of the puzzle he needed to collect before starting the real fun. The computer-who's named was ALISHA- was running them through his body.

The body of the Spider-man.

_What a success._ He grinned at that.

He lost a lot that night but he knew he would rise even well than before after all of his planning resolute.

His plan is acting ceasing less in this instant.

Imagine a swarm of microscopic robots, so tiny that a teaspoon can hold billions of them.

If it all sounds like science fiction, that's because it is.

The nanobots inside his body were a ticking bomb. They were part of an old research in bio mechanics.

The nanites are ready to be injected into the most delicate areas of a human body, the heart and the brain to deliver drugs with extreme precision or work like an army of Nano surgeons, operating from within. These microscopic robots will theoretically have the capability to do things which may seem like magic.

Well, that was the fun part where he intertwined his own magic, a special treatment for the Spider, off course.

The main inventor a bio mechanic engineer-Alexander Flakes-have claimed a world first in proving that artificial, microscopic machines can travel inside a living creature and deliver their load without any detrimental effects. Using micro-motor powered nanobots propelled by gas bubbles made from a reaction with the contents in which they were deposited, these miniature machines were successfully deployed in the body of a live mouse. The investigation and funding started from there.

The robots allows precision interactions with nanoscale objects, or can manipulate with nanoscale resolution.

The pentagon wanted it as a weapon, the researchers stuttered but pleased.

The project's finance was cut after discovering the long and tedious process, the pentagon wanted fast forward weapons and utensils. It was their loss. Unfortunately for them, the idea and projects were immediately shut down after the military gave up the purposes the bots could be used on.

But, Alexander didn't.

Alexander was unable to recreate the idea as a massive weapon. So, everyone gave up.

The scientists were mostly fired and scattered around, but he kept the number of one of them.

The inventor of it.

He kept tabs on the scientist, knowing he was going to keep the research. Just in case he make them work, he stood close enough.

He watched.

The scientist continued alone and at the end after a year of fix-and-fail tests. He succeed.

Sort of.

He ended up not creating the Nano machines that promise the world to their palms, instead he made censorial biotechnological weapons.

The main purpose was not to control the enemy's mind but to rather influence it.

The way of intrusion to the mind was through a chemical compound Alexander created and founded by accident. The composition acted as a drug, the lab rats he used to test it gave him _interesting_ results. The drug killed them at the end, and the ones who survived the one's process ended disoriented and senseless. They starved to death or died out of dehydration.

They simply forgot to do it. Their minds were burned in to useless organic materials.

Alexander was fascinated. He further tested it on living humans, he kidnapped the beggars and homeless and tested it with them. It was cruel, but everything and nothing for the name of science.

He wrote the collateral damages, he make thousands of notes, but he did found a pattern.

The process starts as a dream sequence. The flashes of memory are the beginning. Later, they become worst, they start to transform into the user's worst nightmares. Sometimes, they'll see the mere day's occurrences -torn wildly, off course- or close memories repeat in their eyes. Slowly, but steadfastly the user will lose his mind.

And that's the decaying point were anyone can attack him and shall surely win.

Alexander was a genius, too bad he denied to give the nanobots to him on the past. It was a downer he died. He may have been useful now.

_Anyway._

The point was-

He has them now or rather the friendly Neighbor has them now.

The gas of the bombs worked perfectly. His plan worked neatly. The idea was to infect him with them and appeared death, but surprisingly for him the Spider helped him on that. He never thought the hero had the guts to kill him.

But, _he did_. Well, that's what he thinks. The idea of his enemy revolving on the guilt of his apparent death pleased him to the core.

The machines help to that sentiment too.

He smirks, full-well knowing of the slight_ symptoms_ that come with them.

Emotional Outbursts. Anger, frustration, sadness, it's dispersive of emotions in general. And knowing the rough battles the arachnid has every day, the symptoms will be visible more than ever. Inside his private life, well, _that_ was an extra.

Mental instability was the reward basically.

But, his secret identity, the real man behind the mask is going to be the sweetest revenge.

It was a known fact by him beforehand that he wouldn't be able to discover his identity -_right away_\- with them. The only information the nanobots processed were the blood pressure, stress levels, etc.

Their main instructions were to apply the drug on his system.

But what they did have was a_ tracking_ system.

But he knew once the process ended, he'll have him. If he's patient enough.

If he's not, he has a plan ready for action.

"We'll see who'll be the lost now, Spidey." he said with a dark humor.

He laughed.

The broken sound reverberated the closing site.

Pain shall be _induced._

Pain shall be _set._

A victim shall be release-

From life.

More laugh

"Perfect." he said with certainty, the computer whirling reassuring to him.

XxXXxX

_I'm screwed._

Not that he wasn't before, but now that he finally decided to leave existential matters aside and finished dressing, repack his bag and rush downstairs to greet Aunt May with a quick hello and goodbye, take his lunch and walk several blocks until the noisy streets of the city were placed in his line of view, he located the emptiest alley in there and with natural ease dress upon your re-and-blue neighborhood.

And now here he was.

Swinging and wagering around.

_How am I supposed to do this?_

A question.

A free fall.

The exhilarating feeling the whole action entails.

Adrenaline rush, blood pressure elevating and gravity taking domain

The Mind spins-off also. Up here, his thoughts seem to take a disseverance.

The air, the sky, the height.

Body exhales.

Mind inhales.

The free composition it gives away. This feeling is what has him waking and moving around every day.

That and his common duties as an _average_ teenager boy.

**Average, right** he thought dryly.

_Two weeks have passed already and I don't have any pleasure to go to school anymore._

But then lifting his right hand and aims it directly to a Daily Bugle advertisement, holds on tightly and pushes forward. A 90 degree jolt impulses the free-space run vertically on it.

_On your face Jameson_he grins wildly mere nanoseconds before free-falling again and this time passing and leaving behind trails of crystalline glasses of skyscrapers behind.

_Not that it was a pleasure before, what do I look like a freak, don't answer I- between everyone I know, the people that I want to talk to and the ones I need for them to talk to me._

_There's no one at all._

He decides to shoot a steady line of web until he arrived to the school, after all, he needed balance right now or else he'll probably pass out. Late or not. He'll take his time.

He already has enough faulty reasons to be punish and he's yet to be.

He tries to imagine an amusing way they may try to punish him.

And shudders at the idea of one of them being lock out in a room with a voice recorder of Jameson's voice.

The single idea is terrifying enough that he swings faster.

Glancing over his watch he sees only three minutes missing.

_I'm doing this. _He decided.

He stops and jumps over the edge of a building. Standing there he sees the panorama of the city. Noise and silence mixed up in a giant sphere of hectic lives.

He sighs. _One step at the time, Peter. One at a time._He lifts his head once more and observes over.

His lifts his right wrist and decides that for the present time, he'll leave those inquiries behind. At least leave them for pondering after school.

He sees the railroad line, the Shoes and Co, Factory and sees a waving flag in the east.

_Perfect._

_xXXxXx_

**Author's Note: **_Great! I hope it was for you. It was for me. I really had fun writing this part. Let's pray for our dear Spidey's sake to be save from all of this._

Hopes,

_Aprilgen98_


	4. Chapter 3

_**At Your Mercy**_**: ****Chapter 3**

Day 15, Missing **9**

* * *

He makes it on time. Almost so at least. The streets' edges felt reassuring from here. He passed from side to side, eyes scanning out for trouble. All this was the common routine. Meaning he still had the control, in some way. So far, everything had been normal. _So far_. As the months rolled down, he'd learned, days of crime fighting taught him to appreciate tranquility while it lasts.

From his current position—up in theair—he can hear the voices coming from the students. His mind isn't at ease, but the droning sound of it stopped. At the end, reason won the fight.

At least he comforts in the idea as he swing by an empty alley and dropped himself in the nearest wall and crawled his way down. School, homework and that stuff.

No social life at all.

_And what am I supposed to do if they hate me?_ He thought grimly. Shaking his head, hedecides he had enough with the self-pity. Today, it's a good day.

People say that a positive mind brings positive vibe and good things for you. Maybe a positive mind is what he needs. It can't be that difficult. The pitch-black contents of his mind may be paled by the good positive thinking, maybe his condescending emotions would settle down for once... _Well,_ that term doesn't cover the whole ammunition of emotions, also not everybody hated him. Things were just _complicated _in general; at all.

_**Anyway.**_

He reached for the corner of his shirt and threw the material above his head. After he had re-dress completely and watched out for any spectator, he exited the dark alley. Walking toward the sidewalk that leads to the school is easy when your mind is finally in silence.

_The buzzing is there, though. _

The bell rang, claiming for the young minds to swarm the place like bees and announcing as so the start of another day in the Midtown High school. The students horded the entrances feverishly, some werein the search of their friends others—like him—were hoping not to findthem.

Peter quietly followed the never-ending crowd of teenagers. His much effort to try to generalize himself between faces was proving a failure when the smiling face of Mary Jane Watson waved at him and walked closer. Peter returned the smile, smaller in comparison with MJ's but applied with true happiness at seeing her. It feels like months since they last talked.

"Hey there, Tiger." she greeted as usual.

"Hey MJ" he greeted back.

"How have you been?" he asked politely. They escalated the stairs and passed through the entrance.

"_Me_?" she laughed lightly. "I was about to ask you the same thing." she told him in her usual flirting tone.

They continued to walk. Lockers' clicking resounded the halls. Peter tried to avoid eye contact in the most available discreet way he could muster. He didn't know but there's a reason why eyes are the doors for the soul. His soul may not be so rainbow-colored right now. Last thing he wanted was for some of it to be leak on his stare. Specially with MJ by his side.

Peter shrugged lightly. "Oh. Well, I'm fine." he replied simply. Not wanting to give too much away.

"Why do happens the case where I don't believe you." the corner of her mouth quirked upward to the side. "Common, Tiger. I bet that's not true." MJ said knowingly. She adjusted her backpack on her shoulder.

His eyes opened ever-so-slightly. _How does she-? _Am I _that _obvious. From the corner of his eye, he saw her smiling, she was just teasing.

_Relax. Play it cool. _"What do you mean. Listen. I'm-" He tried to defend in vain.

"-Not okay" MJ finished for him. She sighed. "Peter. Please listen, okay."

This time he did stare at her. "Was that my name?" he choked out clearly shock. His shoulder bounced next to hers. They didn't even mind the yells from the football team members across the hallway.

MJ playfully nudges him on the stomach. "Haven't you heard it before." she chuckled and Peter only rubbed it smiling.

"Yes I have. No need for violence, though. It still hurts." he winced trying to convince her and luckily for him, distracting her from the topic.

Unfortunately for him, she's smart. "You interrupt me." MJ replied while rolling her eyes and smiling.

_She has a pretty nice smile actually._ Wait-_what was that?_

He shook his head as they turned another corner. _Concentration,_ remember.

"But seriously Tiger. We need to talk, I'm worry for you." she admitted to him. Peter stayed quiet.

"Well-" Peter managed to say, his hand on the air, bit MJ intercepted first. Trying to speak over him.

"No. No interruptions. I-" She wasn't able to finish her sentence. They stopped at the sound of their names being called.

"Excuse me?" Peter was the one to ask the teacher in front of them. A man—the teacher—sighed and repeated.

"Mr. Parker and Ms. Watson" he called sternly again. "If you may do us all the favor to enter the classroom on time-" he gestured the classroom door, his hand was on the knob, he turned it around and wide open it. "-we all will be very thankful for it." he finished and turned completely to them. This time the whole classroom heard.

"Yes. Professor Stuart." They both replied immediately. He stood still waiting for them to enter first, once inside, he sighed and closed the door behind him. The day was just starting and he ran out of patience already.

They entered the class. Though, people don't mind them at all. He received a few glances and a couple of scowls, but other than that, they ignored him. Peter glanced around the classroom, looking out for a seat at the same time he walked near Mary Jane. He felt a touch on his arm, it was MJ, he angled toward her. MJ smiled at him just before she sat down next to Alex in the front row. Peter was left to decide. All seats were occupied already. Except, the one's on the back. He decides for it. Less attention the better.

"Good Morning, students." the teacher—Mr. Matthew Stuart, a small, bald man whose patienceboiled thick as the bobbling vein on his neck when he's frustrated with the class—greeted as usual. A few and far between greet back to him, but the teacher's expression was boring, as if he expected the dull responses like this, he bets itcame after years of teaching to the youngsters' stubborn minds.

"Very well" his palms go behind his back. "Today, our Biology lesson will be about-" He stops after the sound of a clearing of throat echoed inthe room.

The students' fragile attention, as expected, breaks at the littleintrusion. Everybody glanced around and the sounds deemed the action again, it's until now they recognized the familiar static coming from the speakers and the well-known voice of the director beaming over the sound of the voices of the teenagers.

Peter leaned back a little inhis chair, one of the perks of sitting on the back. He waited for the director to speak, he's curious as to what it is. As far as he recalled, knowing his memory, it had been months since the last announcement happened. Last time, they called them for the new class Captain Stacy was opening. He doubted it'll be that case again.

"_**Good morning, students of the Midtown High school. I'll ask for the pardon of the teachers at the sudden interruption, but a memo was send confirming this message today." **_the director's voice boomed on the now silence—well, except for the few whispers here and there—classroom.

"Right." Peter hears the Professor muttered, he smiles. _Bet he forgot._

Another clear of throat. _**"The main reason of this message is to inform all the High School students about the incoming assembly on this week's Wednesday."**_ The end of the sentence brought with it an ordeal of frustrated groans and careless shrugs. He's with the latter.

"_**As usual the reunion will be held on the auditorium, please the arrival in time is demanded from each and every student."**_

The snort was on his lips, or was it the well-known sigh? The distinguish between the two doesn't differ him anymore. The dry amusement was entertaining, though.

The director continued _**"It is of prevailing importance to assist this Wednesday school's assembly. Both teachers and students would inform about the...further...changes the school will receive." **__**  
**_

That particular line got his attention. The casual posture and curious demeanor turn in an instant into an engrossed-on-the-subject position. His hands were fidgeting down the desk. The confused whispers among the students started, the teacher tried to silence them, but the look on his face said he was also confused. He peered around, scanning both sides of the room. The walls were a khaki color, they were decorated with the typical Life science encouragement typos. However, they were the least comforting now, he feels nervous. _Why_? The simple word change drove him insane. Changes for him, weren't good. Not even mentioning the slight paranoia he now had thanks to his morning retrospective monologue about hidden enemies. Everything and everybody could be a threat, and at the same time they won't be. His head was almost thrown against the window in frustration...with himself. Peter knew, a year ago, this insecurities wouldn't defined him. But at present they were aspiring him alive. _Relax, Spidey._

_Parker._ His mind barked back. Peter almost fell from the chair. He recovered and blinked..._what was that-?_

"_**There's no reason for alarm."**_ He guessed now that the murmuring of voices was loud enough to hear outside each classroom. _**"Changes on school aren't that bad, I assure you they're not going to be so drastic, as you think."**_ There is a pause, as if the teacher was choosing slowly the right words. _**"And no, I won't be answering any questions, nor I'll talk about any other message corresponding to the announcements that are due for Wednesday. You'll have to be patient. Patience leads to wisdom, youngsters. That's all. I expect you all to have a good day."**_ He detected something strange on his voice. Could it be—_fear_?—of what? _No_. He shook his head. _It's just my mind._ Now he was imagining things.

_Are you listening to yourself? You sound worst than a TV mystery show.'Everybody could be a suspect drama' doesn't fit in this story._

And good day. _Sure._

Changes, they were—he didn't like them. They meant something was wrong. Not at all. Was this part of—_Whoa, slow down Parker. Breath. _

He did as told. Inhale and exhale. This continued a few more seconds.

A few minutes passed. Peter glanced around, nobody noticed the little nervous attack, he just had in the back of the classroom. Silently, he mentally blames it on his outrageous alter ego. Maybe the webbing around wasn't the best idea.

_I feel nauseous. Nausea, headache, sweating I think I'm sick. Yeah, that sure is. _That explains _this._

Is either that or he's going mad.

Let's not go there...

_yet. _

The teacher is the one to clear out his throat this time, trying to gain the attention back to him.

"Alright, students. Here is the class." he sat on his desk as the voices, one by one, started to drift off.

"Mr. Stuart, what do you think about what the Director said." this was asked by a blonde girl. She was dressed in a white skirt and long-sleeved blue shirt. Her golden hair was tied in a tight, tall ponytail.

Peter knew her. Debora Whitman. Unlike Gwen, she was sharp and direct with her words, she was smart also. _Actually,_ last time he heard she was supposed to be his replacement now. He rolled his eyes at that, not that he cared—that much—in being the best, he simply did his homework and yeah had a couple of A here and there. But, since his grades drew lower for a percent this semester and thanks to the high delinquency rate in NYC, she's now the number one. _Not that I was competing_ _really... _

"Ms. Whitman, you heard what Director Ronald said. All the information will be layout on Wednesday." he replied to her question. Mr. Stuart angled toward the board. His hand was on the surface, but-

"But, it does sound strange, doesn't it?" she asked again. Peter wasn't blaming her, he was curious too.

"Ms. Whitman." there's the 'I'm the grown up here' tone. "That's nothing of your concern..._not yet._" he added after the but formed in her mouth. The elder man's lips were pressed on a thin line. His eyebrows were knitted together, from here he saw the vein popped up, he was frustrated for sure.

"Understood, Ms. Whitman." he said sternly once again.

"I guess. Mr. Stuart" Debora responded with a fake polite smile. The young boy could tell she was suppressing a groan of defeat.

The teacher sighed again. And turned to the board, he was drawing the outlines of the nervous system.

"Students, here. Today our topic will be related to our glorious nervous system." Professor said. His marker drew the words he uttered.

"The nervous system consists of the brain, spinal cord, sensory organs, and all of the nerves that connect these organs with the rest of the body. Together, these organs are responsible for the control of the body and communication among its parts. The brain and spinal cord form the control center known as the central nervous system where information is evaluated and decisions made. The sensory nerves and sense organs of the peripheral nervous system monitor..."

He didn't pay much attention. He already knew most of the science and biology lessons, especially Biology. Inventing the formula for his special-and-not-quite-patented spider web helped with that slight development of his studies. But, he wasn't thinking wholly on that. His mind wandered to the unknown reasons of this change on himself.

"_As any other part of our body, it can be damage from small to severe cases. Few say they can be control."_

He felt on edge.

He knew he was being paranoid and a small voice told him that maybe not, he felt a light twinkle of his spider-sense buzz on his body. He looked around, **nothing**.

"_Although, that's just a myth. Science and the human body have look for ways to use their power. But, it's no use. The human body works as a giant clock…"_

_Maybe, I'm just losing my mind._ He shook his head. His morning shenanigans tied up with the heavy thoughts that clouded his mind and the disturbing nightmares only end up being an insane idea-release. However, coincidences_ do _happen, _maybe I'm too tense. I need to relax._

He did that, letting the words full of familiar information overcast his mind. Although his mind and body loose a degree of tension, the wrinkles on his face and his darting eyes gave away the real worry he felt. He was worried he was losing himself.

_**Don't loose yourself, either kid.**_

I'm trying, Uncle Ben._ I'm trying. _

He looked down at his book, and wrote some notes on his notebook. Phrases he did catch between the slurred ones. If he didn't know any better, he'll say he felt different. He hoped it's a good kind of difference. All while he thought of the incoming Wednesday and the eggs Aunt May told him to buy...

Worries for later, what was the definition of **m****edula oblongata?**

* * *

"I told you it's our last option, Curt." Martha Connors said, a distress tone on her voice. She trailed the steps behind her husband, he was ignoring her once again.

"No," Doctor Curtis Connors stubbornly shook his head. "I answered back saying_ that_ wasn't an option." He replied. He feverishly wrote down notes on his clipper as he passed each door. They were on the hallway leading to the mental daily status check needed to be done problems or not.

"Try to see it our way," Martha tried one" last time. "Remember it's not only you, it's Billy and me also."

"I know that" He replied quietly. He didn't turn to face his troubled wife. "But look at it my way, Martha. This is my life's work, a work we accomplish..._together_!" He exclaimed finally the words that have being devouring him inside out since the call happened.

"Can't you see that?"

Martha's eyes were pleading. She didn't respond at first, her arms folded and a grim expression closed her features. "I know that." She replied. "But, look around you, all our work it's nothing now."

"The synthesizes done to the university will allow me—" Dr. Connors fought even do he knew the answer to their problems. They were both waiting for him to verbalize it.

Martha walked closer to him, a both reassuring and calming squeeze stopped his senseless rant. "Curt."

"Martha, please." Doctor Connors pleaded. His palms were pressing on the plastic object for dear life.

Martha Connors stepped back and shook her head from side to side, negating his plea. "The offer's too much for us to skip it as we did in the past with the others."

"Money's not always the solution."

"For us, it is now."

With that she fished something from her pocket, a phone. "Here."

"Right now?" He asked, his shoulders were cast down, a defeated tone on his voice. He'll lose everything even after all their hard work trying in stopping it, it was no use.

Martha turned back in direction to the Lab section. Her words echoed. "The secretary told me he stays in the office from 10 to 3 only, better early than late."

"I think you got wrong the message from the saying."

She left without another word. The well-long-familiar Doctor from New York City sighed deeply at their circumstances. Dislike was what he felt at fighting with his wife, but he couldn't help it.

The phone stared back to him, tempting his future to be marked down. At last stance, he dialed the number already written down on the screen.

The phone rung for five seconds exactly, then it was answered. "A pleasure to hear from you again Doctor. My guess is, you thought about our humble offer."

The voice was condescending and smooth. The doctor was momentarily distracted by this. "Yes; my wife and me have to come to a point of convergence in it. We accept."

"Excellent. I'll send my assistant tomorrow for the signing."

"Just one thing." Doctor Connors called. "The mental institution. I want the people to be sent to a new place, the offer said you wanted the place not the patients."

"Gladly so I'll commit my part, Doctor. Don't stress out please, my people will treat that."

Connors contained his sigh of relief. His mind thought it was going to be harder. "Alright. Have a good day."

"Don't worry, Doctor Connors. I said I've got everything under my grasp."

* * *

The beeping sound marked the call as terminated. The man smiled behind his shades, the sun shone through the massive clouds of the middle day. A tall, black-haired woman came back with his drink.

"Any else you wish, sir?" Asked the waiter of the restaurant."

"Oh that's a tough answer, sweetheart." Thomas Romman answered, a polite tone on his voice yet something strange was on it. He smiled at the woman. "anyway, I don't want to bore you with it. A dry martini will suffice by now. Maybe your special soup too" The waiter nodded and left to retrieve said food.

A smile curled from the corner of his mouth.

Pieces were fitting perfectly.

* * *

****Think of a way, ****his subconscious repeated for a hundredth time.

"I can't!" Eddie Brock struggled behind the white shirt that was trapping him from danger to himself.

"Fuck! Get me out of here!" He shouted again. His breathing became ragged. His eyes were burning as so his mind from thinking. Somehow reason crept on his brain. **If you keep shouting they'll come for you again. Asleep you.**

He groaned. "That's right." His back readjusted with wall behind him. The sterile material was sickening him already. He couldn't help his frustration, he heard the conversation between the Connors.

He—very clearly—heard how they were going to sell the place. _Good_, he thought, a grin crept on his face, it was wicked. _After everything they put me trough suffering is what they deserved._

**And not only them,** his subconscious added once again. It wasn't the first time that idea popped on his brain. Being encased forcefully inside a white-smothered prison, blaming it on how they were helping you above everything, that lie, promoted his transparent thinking to pass through the dire anger and hatred.

Anger and hatred.

There was one person to blame that.

_Stupid; they're idiots if they think __ I'm going to stay here for any longer. _

His head connected with the wall with a thud. He felt none. His eyes were closed. One way or another he was going to escape. With or without people to held him back.


	5. Chapter 4

_**At your Mercy**_**: Chapter 4**

* * *

The day flew on its own accord after the short unnerving announcement of the Director. Peter found himself doing the same things all day. For some reason the continuous movements and heavy silence from his mouth depressed him.

_Depression?_

_I don't think I ever felt that._

Sadness, yes, gloominess, sometimes but _depression?_ That was a whole new level of unhappiness he has never had the chance to experience. Despite the numerous occasions, he never lets his mind wander so far away. Now, he felt like that. So much for the positive thinking, the very same one that only lasted around, _what, _five minutes?

The flavorless thinking only ended up cutting his hungry. Somehow he managed to convert the sweet-mayonnaise tailored tuna sandwich of Aunt May into an insipid piece of bread. He lay it down. His elbows were on his knees on an instant, his shoulders pushed forward, slumping together. He closed his eyes as he ran his right hand through his hair all while the other rubbed his downcast eyes. He wiped them lazily from the grogginess feeling he acquired a second ago in the middle of his lunch.

There he was, at the middle of the break period, on the roof of a nearby building. The Midtown was two blocks away. He came here to relax, the robotic pattern he managed to make on the morning left him exhausted and bored out of his mind. Experienced enough, he exited the school through the Campus were Flash and the Football Team always played during breaks. The cheerleaders were also there, but nobody saw him.

_At least I have learned one or two things from sneaking around thieves and villains; the common art of fleeing unnoticed._

Peter laughed at his own joked and smiled to himself. At least he still remembered how to make good fun of himself.

A shrill.

His hands were dropped from their positions. His vowed head lifted up, and, immediately his darting eyes were moving to the sides. He stood up and walked nearer the ledge.

Another shrill, now broken glass and a yell.

His knuckles were pressed against the Grey-tilted ledge, in a second he jumped to stand over it, trying to gain better eyesight but he saw nothing.

He groaned and threw his head back with a breath. "What's wrong with this city? I want to relax and they give me this." He mock gestured to the outlines. "Wow, thank you New York and no thank you." Despite his mouth's direct disapproval he knew—wanting it or not—it was his duty. He sighed inwardly. _Maybe that phrase is a little wasted._

Peter ran from the ledge. Luckily for him, he brought his always-ready suit on his backpack. As his hand clutch the material, another sound was heard. The adrenaline on his body skyrocket at the recognition of a bomb. His wide-eyed expression said enough. "_Bombs...who?" _He started to think but his spider-sense cut him off fast enough. His posture aimed faster for the clothes. He darted away; there was a small alley downstairs. The situation was at least ten to fifteen blocks from here. As if on cue, the police vans moved on the streets below him, toward said problem. The sirens resounded on his head as he threw his body across the ledge. His hand came in quick contact with the opposite wall. He landed lightly on the ground. In no more than seconds his disguise was ready, the mask was held between his hands. Nobody was there so he wasn't worried for somebody to see him there unmasked. Besides if somebody discovered his all-so-protected identity in a dirty alley after _everything _in the last months. Well, either he'll laughed along or—

His mind aimed fruitlessly for an alternative. _None._

Peter stayed silent. He crawled up the side, mask on. Once up, his wrist objected the edge of the frontal building—frontal from two blocks away—he shoot and gravity did his job.

More sirens were heard from the distance. Another bomb and shrill, he swing faster, six blocks away. From there he saw the crowds of hysteric civilians scavenging for safety. The gladness he felt for this was true. Less people in danger, the better work he could accomplish.

_**My spider-sense **_Reflexes clicked in automatic. A dodge to the right. His eyes scanned the object, a car.

"A convertible? Really? Man, one of those would be nice." Spider-man said out loud. He looked around for the thrower. Streets empty. _Two blocks, one block..._He jumped to the nearest building. There he peered to acknowledge the situation.

Apparently the police men did a type of barricade with the upside-down cars. Just like the one this unknown threw at him. Where_ is he? _Upside-down cars only meant one thing, **super-strength.**

"And super-strength means super-buddies joining the party. Yah" Spider-man muttered. "Hey!" the wall-crawler yelled over the sound of officers' shouts. That got the attention from the police. Most of them sighed in relief. Others scowled at his yet again presence. _One would say they'll get used to it._

_Just like High School ignored them. _

"Hey! Yes, you mysterious guy" he yelled again. This time he pushed from the glass windows he was leaning against. He landed on the middle of the fire. Police men were staring at him and glancing around. All confuse asking the same question. Where is he..._or them? _He was yet to know anything.

"Common show your face!" Spider-man called once again. He was getting frustrated already. "Well, fine then. How disrespectful of you to make your guests stand still for you." he said while huffing air.

"Whatever then, see you!" He shouted over his shoulder. The police were saying things, he didn't pay attention.

Just as he was about to shoot for a retrieve a blast was launched through the clear sky. The sound echoed. All eyes were on the air. Nobody notice—except his spider senses—the second blast aimed on the ground level for them, to the police. Peter saw this in seconds and Spider-man jolted to action.

"Watch out!" Spider-man warned the police. A few turned their heads. Too slowly. He decided to go for it. Across the street, the mail receiver actually, was there. The hero's web encased the metal box and forced it forward. He threw it. Just in time, the blast sliced it in two, in a neat vertical line. A line of smoke and a little fire surround it. Other police men were treating that.

A third, fourth and fifth blasts were shooting continuously and so on, all from different directions, this time for him. Spider-man dodged every single one. The dance fast forward as that. The—not only—anonymous yet unmatched threat keep firing at him senselessly. After what seemed like an eternity, it stopped abruptly.

"What?" Spider-man called. His hands were thrown to the air. "That's all you have, Pal." he asked arrogantly. His hands move to be placed on his hips. "Well, then my say is you really need to work out, I mean—"

Before he could finished a massive—what looked like three or four blasts combined—orange-white light came from his back. Peter sensed this coming miles away. But, for some_ odd_ reason his body slowed down. There was a sting on his head. On the heat, he didn't acknowledge it. The fraction of time lost was enough to imbalance his movement. The ray hit its target.

* * *

The light overshadowed his chest. He doesn't know how. But, in the last second he managed to cover the police by throwing a giant web toward them. He screamed at top of his lungs "Cover!"

The men and women scattered around. No civilians close.

First the impact, then the pain; the impact was fast and eye-blinding. Flickers of shinning light mirrored his vision. He felt something hard hit his back. His mind identified it, _a wall_—a wide, rock-like material, a good apparently. He fell on the floor. Scrunches of debris blurred his eyes. A fog of dust filled his lungs. He coughed harshly; his throat was dry like paper, cutting on the edges. Peter tried to difference for any major injury, but he couldn't. He stayed there, unable to move or think. Somehow he came through. His eyes adjusted with the darkness. White dots were still there, confusing him on whether he was asleep or not. But, behind that he distinguished a silhouette. It drew closer. It was until the point where this dimmed his line of sight, until then it spoke out loud.

The voice was smooth; a velvet and reassuring sound. He was lost in it. He heard words, they were too many. Harder he tried to understand them. Seeing his struggle the shadow leaned closer. His mouth came in contact with his ear. A shiver ran his spine; Perhaps from the throbbing pain or the freezing edge of this—_shade of man?_

"Listen closely." It said, the sound crease-less. "You, my dear friend, are going to feel what surpass of power is."

Peter inhaled sharply. The shadow—a man probably, he couldn't differ, his ears were burning—feathery touched his mask's corner. A simple motion and his life will be ruined. _What an anti-climatic. _Peter tried to stand up but his limps felt numb. Ironically, his mouth was sealed shut quite literally. It felt asleep also. Even his fingers were unmoving. He gasped. _The blast had something, a paralyzer-? How-? What-?_

All this questions devoured his mind. But one stood promptly above all of them.

"W-Who?" Peter stammered. The shadow understood anyway. He was close enough to listen to his breathing, his racing heart maybe.

"My name?" The shadow asked, faking curiosity. Peter's eyes were painfully so coming into focus. By now he could distinct the shade as a man. "Well." The shadow stood up, dropping the mask in the process. "That's irrelevant for you. But-" he raised a—_finger_ into the air. "All due to time, kid. I'm running late anyway."

"W-What do-o you-u WA-ant with me-e?" Peter choked out. He moved to sit up. A whimper escaped his lips. His leg was in an odd angle, _that's going to hurt tomorrow. _He thought while gritting his teeth.

"_Don't be so selfish, my boy."_ The now-fading shade chastised. His back was to him. "Not everything is about you. But if I may say something it'll be this,"

"Watch your back." were his final words as the image blurred once again.

With all the power of his genetic-altered body he well-tried to lift up the remains from the fall. His right leg was screaming far from the level of normal—resistible—pain now. White flashes twisted on his sight. His mind reeled in thought. Though, they were all bleary; a sudden blackness near him. He fought the unconsciousness out of the fear of closing his eyes and seeing the images again. As late usual, he neither lost without hope nor wish to win.

Slumber washed over him.

* * *

"_**Move fast,"**__ they said.__He was doing exactly that.__** "Distraction would be lay out, but there's always the percent of failure. We won't accept that from you. Rich or dead is how you'll end up. Decide it for yourself."**_

The sun blared on the sky. Diverging as so enough light to see. Between the cracks he saw it. His head shone with the flickers of white hair. His aim shifted ever-so-slightly to the right. An inch may be too much at stake to loose. The money was promised to him by killing a man, but they never said how they wanted him. The rest of his equipment was securely on his bag behind him. The window's paint was peeling off as the multiple papers stacked on each wall. _What a poor design._

His lock was pressed off, his finger on the trigger, he shot.

A perfect, horizontal and straight shot. Who would doubt anything less from him?

* * *

Her palms pressed against the clear glass of the window above the ceiling. The glass was reinforced with a plaque of sterile and oxygenated metal. She smirked, glad there was a little challenge for her. Most of her robberies on the past months had been tedious in all sense of the word. Easy as cake, could be the perfect phrase there. Her mind thought of other reasons on why her emotions were mostly blown, but she denied the chance to simply think about it.

_It was a game_, Black Cat thought loudly on her head. _I don't own him nothing_.

Nothing from her, from her mouth or her help. He managed before her, she's damn sure he can manage now without her help.

"He's the hero after all. Don't they find a way always?"

The words were muttered by her mouth the same second her laser crossed the gross material. She simpered as she hurled the electronic-elastic rope against her slim waist and passed through the circular hole her weapons created.

As she descended through it, her eyeballs reflected delight at her choice tonight. "Seems like the cat chose her playground nicely today." Black Cat purred as she based herself on the white-ceramic.

"Maybe she should be more careful from where her information comes."

Black Cat didn't lost a second. At the first syllable of the word she jounce a knife from her left boot and threw it toward it. The voice didn't wavered. She watched as her medium-sized knife was stamped in the column. Without a man behind it. Her posture changed into a combat one. Her knees bended and her claws scratched from their imprisonment.

"Where are you?" Black Cat purred. "Come out to play, could you?" her nails scratch her chest lightly.

"It'll be my pleasure, _darling,_ in any other instances we could, not right now although the view's tempting."

Black Cat smirk grew at the man's words were whispered with true desire. She knew how a man could fell. But, the true reason of his acts was still unknown to her. She remembered the words he said when she entered.

"So, any reason for my distrustful contacts." Black Cat asked. Her ears perk up as the voice boomed again.

"Actually, there's a very important reason for it." The voice—with a low and steady sound—said.

It took her a second to recognize the voice coming from the speakers. She sensed something not-so-good coming for her. Her skin hairs were rising at the incomplete responses. Yet, she maintain a smooth exterior, _no reason for puffing my fur._

"_Then?"_

"I have a job for you." Suddenly the walls splashed with white-cubic squares rotated within their space and a new wall appear. Yes, her contacts were a little sold-able. From the view, she suspected it was own by quite the rich man with his own hobbies. Things were going to worst. There were reason why she evaded those men.

The walls were now full with screens all blaring the same headlines, images and _name_.

_Spider-man._

This was one of the reasons.

"I assure you, the work's going to come with all the perks essential for you to be.._.concentrated."_ He said. "Have you ever heard about the name Hardy,_ Walter Hardy?"_

Words left her, her tongue was dry from the aghast feeling. There's no way for him to know that. It's impossible.

"Now I've got you're attention, don't I, _little kitty?"_

"What do you want?" She spat out. Her claws were pressed tightly. Her knuckles white.

"Look around you. The man before you is our goal. The works pefect for_ New York's cat burglar._ One we know, don't try to fool us, had some _action_ with Spider-man. Look for him and bring him to us. If you've got any question about the clauses of your job we can always discusse them with your father, _Hardy. _If you want your tiny secret—that per my opinion's a pretty interesting case—then you'll have to work for us or work for _us_, your choice. If you want to negotiate, we can always bring your father here, your _wish, Black Cat._"

"So, do you take the job _or_ do you take it?"

One word was responded. "Deal."


	6. Chapter 5

_**At your Mercy: **_**Chapter 5**

Day 15; Missing** 9**

* * *

**Dark; Peter blinks, _where am I? _A door creeps open in the corner. He saunters over it, a light blinds him for a second, moister and broken wooden-objects surround the place, an alarm blares, a mess of sounds engulf him, his hands moves to tap his hearing from it, they fist together. His eyelids felt heavy, his ears were on fire. "Stop!" He shouted over it. No answer came. A voice blasts on the darkened room, he recognizes it instantly.**

"_**We didn't hurt Uncle Ben. The world took him away from us. The world takes everything we love. There's no one you can trust Peter Parker. No one, except us! Join with us! Make our bond permanent. Together, nothing can stop us. And everything we ever wanted... will be ours!"**_

"_**Symbiote?" Peter asks, his disbelief obvious. "That's impossible. You're dead!" He exclaims, fear shoots through him—fear of the returning foes—enemies his strength doubts to destroy. He stands up and runs, he opens the door were he entered and runs, another door flashes and another, more light shines he blinks rapidly now, he passes throughout a last one only to come face-to-face with his fear.**_

_**Sizes, another light shot through them, their forms were light, almost real. The first one speaks.**_

"_**Hello Spider-man" Doctor Octopus greeted, his electronic arms swerved above him. "A dear surprise to see you."**_

"_**We didn't expected you so soon web-head." Sandman added. His fist were giants, already transformed into his persona. "Where were you?"**_

"_**You're not here. Any of you." Peter stammers, his wrist aims for them. It fails the liquid and tool of no longer use. His legs back him away from them.  
**_

_**A man blur shadow walks to the front. The figure takes his breath away in a spur.**_

"_**Why so shy, Spidey?" The Green Goblin asks curiosuly, the same driven-mad grin on his lips. Peter does't respond because he couldn't, his voice was cut off. In a second, the Goblin's hand twisted and aimed for his belt. Instants later he caught a well-known spehere on his hands. All the rest of the villains following suit his actions. Electricity blares, blades edges and machinary whirls. Their hands raised, before he could escape, they fired. Hovering all over him a multi-colored flashes of light. He screamed.  
**_

_**The villains laugh sardonically so.**_

"_**Don't bother running, as there's no place you can hide."**_

* * *

Jolting upright in bed is one thing. Being awaken dead short by a siren, while laying down on a pile of broken bricks and pieces of cement is _another_ class of thing.

One by one, his senses returned. At first, he didn't recognize the sounds. They were hazy, as his vision and movements. It was until he heard the heavy boots that knowledge splashed unceremoniously over him. He remembered the school, the police, the blasts, the..._shadow?...Was I dreaming that?_

Static filled the air.

Peter heard a few voices. His mind searched for a recognition.

The police.

He almost gasped again. The memory of his whereabouts came by a hard pang of pain. It came from his leg, the right one. A second later and the rest of his body followed suit the painful sensation. This time the paralysis—or whatever affected his body—was gone. Peter tried to raise his hand from the rubbish. His strength was back also. Once his hand was out—luckily uninjured—he moved for the other. Both hands were out. He decided to go for it. Both hands were place to lift up the piece of wall that was over him, his legs mostly. He groaned as the material was halfway.

He threw it aside. The moment the heaviness was moved, his head slack forward. His legs felt as if he had ran a whole marathon_ twice_.

"Captain! I found it, he's here."

Peter heard the voice close. His head was elevated to see. He saw a somehow excited police officer standing there. The police man stood there watching him with a gleeful grin. Peter cleared out his throat, but the sound came as a cough.

The police drew closer. He was wide-eying him. As though he was some sort of exotic animal. _It's weird._

"Do you need anything?" The police man asked, he was nervous. "I mean, off course you need. You almost die. The whole blasting-through-a-wall..." He trailed off and laughed nervously. A hand was rubbing his neck.

It took Peter a second to relate this actions to something. The way he seemed to regard him. _This guy must be my...fan?_ _Since when do police men love me? _Captain Stacy was the only exception. Was, being the imperative word here. Apparently, he had done something good for this guy to admire him. _That's what fans do or not. Not that I am a celebrity. Well, yes but_—Peter sighed. The guy mistook it as

a problem, he was about to ask him again but Peter stopped him._A fan? __Let's play for a while then._ _This could be fun._

"Yeah." Spider-man answered. He shrugged lightly. Even that hurt. "It was pretty cool, don't judge the five meters bulls eye were I landed." He was smiling after seeing his expression. _It must be __'__Spider-man just talked to me__'__ or __something. "__Right?" _Spider-man added to tease.

The police officer laughed cheerfully, almost bouncing. "Yes, I know. It was amazing" he said while grinning. "You should practice that." He pointed out. "Still it was great."

Peter opened his mouth to respond but somebody's else voice won.

"Malinowski!" The voice—a female yelled in the silence. "Were are you?" she asked again. Her voice echoed commandingly.

"Here, sir." Malinowski responded. All his fan boy aura dissipated in a flash. He did turned to help him as Peter moved to stand up though. He based himself in trembling legs.

Malinowski didn't say anything else as the women arrived to the scene. Her hair was a dark shade of brown, her skin tan a little, and her blue aqua marine orbs surprised him even in the dark. She was glaring at him.

"Officer DeWolf, sir" Malinowski saluted. "I found him. He doesn't seem wound, not as bad as we thought."

The woman—DeWolf—didn't answer at first. She was still seeing him. Peter almost squirmed from the stare. He cleared out his throat.

"Well." Spider-man started to say. "I better get going." He backtracked, careful not to fall. "So, let's plan this date for another day. My schedule is way heavy this week."

"Really?" DeWolf—finally—bellowed _angrily_. _So much for my theory of liking in the police_. "Planning on destroying anymore buildings tomorrow? Or maybe are you going to cause a break in our prisons?"

Her quick accusations amazed him. _Maybe I can nominate her with JJ to win the award Let's-all-get-the-arachnid-monster/__killer/__super villain-out-of-the-earth__ propaganda._

"I'm sorry." Spider-man said. "I think you confused me with some other out there," he told her calmly. No use in getting annoyed by the same thing every day. "If you want to figure that out go ask one of your trapped villains." he told her. "I heard you have plenty."

_Thanks to me. _He wanted to add, but decided against it. It was a little-too-sardonic, even for him, specially on this time on the morning...afternoon? Time still seemed foggy.

DeWolf laughed roughly. She sauntered the place, her hands on her hips. "Are you talking about your allies? If you're questioning for them, they're fine." She commented. A group of soldiers were behind here, fixed together.

"My _allies?__"_ He shook his head. "**No**." Spider-man explained. "They're _my_ enemies, just as they are _yours_." _Can't you see? __Can't anybody ever?_

"We _are_ the Police Department of New York City. We're simply doing our jobs." She dictated.

"And so, I'm doing mine, Officer DeWolf." He replied easily. "Suggestions are accepted if added nicely." He added jokingly. Apparently it did madden her more. Her expression went from dead serious to dead killer. _Well_, he thought dryly, _now I see how much she doesn't like me._

"This is not a joke" She sneered. Her boots splashed on the ground. Making a thud kind of sound. "But you are. You're just a vigilante without training. This _is_ our jobs." She pointed an accusing finger at him.

He raised his hands. "It's not a joke for me either,_ Officer._" Spider-man stated frustrated with her. "I'm just helping. We all work for the same cause." Peter decided to set off his escapade. This woman nerves were already getting to his. That, and his body felt on the verge of collapsing right there and then. He wasn't a fool himself, to just faint in front of a Spidey's dear ol' hater. _Did I mention extremely __hater__? _He turned around, his body was about to rise when a question was spat on him. A question he had ask himself before. At least in the darkest corner of his mind.

"_**Do we?**_**"** DeWolf inquired coarsely. "Killing people _randomly_ was never taught in our manuals."

"What?" The first question frozen him dead on his tracks. The second query was an acid to his body. Forget the pain._ What did she said?_

Before he dare to asked what she meant, a series of guns locks opened. He rotated around in an instant. A perfect line of horizontal red dots were aiming at his chest. Peter stood there confused. He glanced around, the guy from before—Malinowski—was at the side of Officer DeWolf. _Was he acting?_ _To cool him off suspicions? What are they doing this? __They were planning this? Since when?_

"Don't play the fool card with me." DeWolf motioned with her hand. "Arrest him." She ordered the police men surrounding her. In a second a third of the guns were aimed for his head. Others stayed lined up on his chest while the rest focused on each of his legs.

His hands were unclaimed, but he raised them anyway. Peter looked around. Turning his head ever-so-slightly to the right and left. Until now he hadn't had the opportunity to scan the place. The site was an old, long-time forgotten storage vault. Boxes and more boxes lined the area. Engulfing it in a sort of maze. No wonder why they spend so much time looking for him. Another fact, they were no windows. The first obvious escapade route for the running away of the anonymous hero. _Great_

Most of the containers were either broken or dust by now. His fallen did some more damage to the place. He hoped whomever the owner was—if he's still lived—had a _good_ insurance.

"As nicely as this exchange of words between friends was Miss DeWolf." Spider-man called out. His voice echoed on the silence of weapons. He had to act fast, or else he'll have a _long _story to explain to Aunt May. He grimaces,_ no way_. He raised a finger from his lift hands. As expected everyone's aim moved too. They were all tense. _Perfect._

"Duty calls. I gotta go, pals." He said easily. Then, Spider-man whistle. Everybody exchanged confuse glances.

"What are you doing? Stop it, _right_ now." Officer DeWolf commanded. "Pertinently immediately you're classified as a wanted criminal of this city, you're under our command."

"I can't hear you, what did you said?" He placed a hand behind his ear. "Officer DeWolf, common, I know you _love_ to talk." Spider-man sing-sang. A few officers' eyes darted for a second at the distraction. DeWolf's eyes split from his for a second too. That was enough.

Spider-man jolted to the side. A half of a box covered the line of fire thrown at him in that second. Officer's DeWolf voice boomed on the now-loud site. Bullets ricocheted in the air. He had to moved quickly.

"Common, common. We need to trap him. Captain Stacy's direct orders!"

_Captain Stacy's orders? _There was no time for inquiries. He cast a glimpse of their positions through the now-open rolling of holes on the boxes around him. The police men were almost hovering all over him. They were armed. He was too.

_Might as well just do it, Spidey. _Webs and more webs were thrown at them. Peter didn't stop until he was sure they were trap. There's no need for injuries. Besides, they're accusing him. Brutal force would only confirm their suppositions. A few and far men tumbled to the ground. Some were cursing, other were struggling in the goo-mess of traps._** My spider-sense**_ Spider-man bolted in the air. His body agilely jumped in reverse. In the air he saw DeWolf with a gun aiming it again, he skipped it for inches. His feet vibrated on the ground. Violent force is their last recourse._ Alive or death signs coming soon. _

In another flash, more sounds were heard. Police men were shooting at him, he was evading them as much as he could.

DeWolf's continued to bark orders around her. His feet dangled in a mess of spins and movements. But they were too much. The bullets were ricocheting in the air. He was left to cover in the futile air. _**My Spider-sense.**_ Peter jumped into the air. Hurling around the boxes with a swing. The officer's aim turned upwards.

He looked around, he spot a place from afar. He swiveled and spun, confusing as so the men.

Peter heard more footsteps. He glanced back. Backup teams were waffling the place in instants, the alternative exits were full of Indian lines of SWAT teams. _Tougher guys, edgier with bigger weapons. _ At least forty men and women lingered the old building. Not counting the outsiders waiting for any signal.

"Seriously?" Spider-man asked, faking surprised. He was currently leaning against a hidden box in the far left corner, at the same time it covered him, his voice's direction reverberated too much to be found rather quickly. From there he saw everything also. Including the hovering agents and DeWolf scowling face.

"All this for me. I'm flattered. You didn't have to" His hands were shaking in adrenaline. Exit A closed. Exit B _literally_ seized in hefty boys.

"There's no way out of this." A female voice thundered his ears, he turned to it. "No joke, no escapade, you're dead trapped in our hands, _**Spider-man**_." She spit his name, unceremoniously. Not caring if other were listening to it. For once, he was listening closely. Painfully so he was starting to believe her words. There's no way out of this. The series of armed police SWAT teams were running to him. He even caught a glimpse of FBI agents there. Whatever crime they think he did, it had to be a big topic.

"I-" Once again in the lasts months, he was lost of words. "Officer DeWolf, listen, I," More gun's seals tickling open. "Let's talk alright, I don't know what do you think I did. But whatever it was I didn't do it, okay? And also isn't it is my constitutional right to be given my—_supposed_—crime before the arrest?" Reason, his last idea was to appeal for reason.

Officer DeWolf simply snorted. "Don't try to fool me, _Spider-man_. I already told you what was it. A murder."

"Hum-mph." came his reply. He was distracted with a little something else.

One of the SWAT members was close to him. Peter examined him over with his sharp eyes. They were two guns on his belt. The biggest one was held between his knuckles. From his posture it deemed he was too tense. Probably a new cadet, in training. One thing shone in his dark black equipment.

In a flash, he exited the box and smacked the guy, right on the cheek. Blood fell from his mouth into _his_ hand. _Whoa_, Peter stood there in agape. He was glancing between his pulsing fist and the dead cold agent. Knocking him out was on the plan, but not _that_ harsh and..._violent_. Blood scurried from the corner of his mouth, he split his lip.

Peter stood there in aghast for a few more seconds before he retracted back. He bend down and fished the center of his attention out of the agent's belt. Silently, he muttered an apology. He ran from the corner.

* * *

Agilely enough he leaped between the boxes. His wrist shoot the well-known line of web, he held tight to it. Peter landed on top of a row in the middle. All eyes parted, and mouths opened. Officer DeWolf groaned. "Catch him!" She ordered, her weapon at hand. People disordered from their given positions to did as told.

Spider-man used the chance. From his back two objects appeared. Either Officer DeWolf nor the police following her stop. The SWAT team members were the ones to warn.

But in the instant he did it a blinding pain hit his side. He glanced down, red reflected in waters in his hand. It was blood.

It was too late for re-thinking. The hero threw the object.


	7. Chapter 6

_**At Your Mercy:**_** Chapter 6**

**Author's Note: If your asking for me, I'm crying for our hero's dilemma. **

* * *

When he was younger, Uncle Ben used to tell him stories about the famous adventurers, how the hero risked his life for the least fortunate ones. Everybody loved them. He remembered the cheers and the non-ending crowds of thankful people. She or He, _whomever_ it was—_was_ a hero. The hero's life were, by majority, ambitious. That's what his reasoning mind told him as a child. His ignorance and naivety recall in the confusion. But, the colorful uniforms unsighted his thought.

He was a child.

He was seven. By that time, his parents were gone. He was tiny and weak. A small, defenseless person against the fame and workload of his parents' lives.

It was too much. Peter gave up after a day. There was one reason though, on why he survived. His dear Uncles. He owns them his life. But, even with their aid, it was hard.

He remembered how much hatred he gave to everything related to the flying machines. It only lasted during a week. His hatred was sealed close at the kindness of his uncles.

Simple weeks after the accident, the news reports rolled purposely on the TV. Signaling and showing all of their success. There was one word he remembered to see all while scanning each channel, newspaper, and article.

One word people, total strangers and far friends, used to described them.

_Heroes._

He despised the word. Hated it it from any angle you showed him. If it wasn't for the unmeasurable kindness of Uncle Ben and Aunt May, the word would have remained as so. A painful remainder of their state, a simple title to put them yet a wrong one.

The life of those brilliant and zealous adventurers was so different.

Years of burying deeply those memories. The hatred seems to resurgent at such easy events.

* * *

If his head and body were pounding before, you can guess how well he's right now with the grogginess in the air, quite literally. Not mentioning his side. He was gritting his teeth, almost scratching them down. He pressed harder on the wound. A moan escaped his lips.

A gas bomb; used in the worst cases only. Either for a sneak cover into a heavily-armed intrusion or for a confusing fogginess exit from danger. Indeed, there was always a third option for him. A not-so-clean yet perfect distraction for his escapism. Agents and police men were dispersing around, aimlessly. The funny thing was, he was doing the same. _Some of the perks of spontaneity_

The stupor of the aerosol in the air was giving him an aneurysm, he thought so at least. Peter waved his hand in front of him, he coughed and winced at the same time. His side was burning. His suit must be sucked right now, a feeling of a small tickle was on his leg. Blood must be scurrying down. **Metal**, his mouth tasted like metal. Hardly so, he saw a small light in the corner. _Might as well go for it,_ He'd never been the fatalist himself but, is either _that _tiny light there or down the fluorescent lights of a prison _or death_.

Before moving, he took one of his gloves, and he pressed it tightly against the damage side, his left one. _First my right leg, __and now__ th__e left __arm__, must be my lucky day__, _he thought while groaning. He adjusted the mask—the one he stole—_nicely_ _borrowed_ from the FBI SWAT agent. The mask enable the gas to disoriented him.

_S__o much can changed in a couple of hours._

After pressing the material against his skin, he spread a web over it. At least like that he'll contain the blood loss. Around him, police men scattered, some were unconscious, other were tripping, and some were smart enough to use their masks.

Needless to say, he ran for it. Metaphorically ran. If he'd skipped that bullet, he'll leave in seconds from here. A linear swing and he'll go for it. Now, as he stumbled by a couple of times, his head throbbed and he felt light-headed. The coverage on his wound was doing his job, but it was too much pain. His head screamed back at him. _No, just move, __**move**__._ He did that, always misstep-ping with another person. He used said opportunities to dissolved them from his route.

"Hey, I saw Spider-man walking over there!" Peter shouted over the ringing of alarmed and frighted voices. "I think he was wounded." he added. He was faking a deep, masculine voice.

"Really?" The other man—either agent or police—call out and coughed. "How can you see anything here? We're blinded practically!" He exclaimed.

"Vision 20/20. My ophthalmologist adores me." Peter replied simply. Though, the man did believe him. And apparently he was some sort of leader on his team, maybe the SWAT. _Bingo_. He difference eight to ten men running to the decoy direction.

He continued like that. Stumbling, distracting, gesturing_and groaning_. Finally, he arrived to the door. Five meters far, but as usual the universe love to play around with his head.

"Dammit!" A female—a closer step to him said it was DeWolf's—"Move, look around, common" She was ordering men and women around her. "He's wounded, it's our chance to trap the menace."

Peter snorted, _the menace_, right now the best fight he can give is maybe a little kicking and yelling. He dragged his body a little more, he stopped. A strong bang make him bend down, the action almost making him scream. He resisted. Some men were running around him, unaltered of his presence. _If they kne__w__, _he thought,_what a funny end that will be. Maybe a little sardonic._

"How could he have one of those?" One man close to him asked. "They're our best material." he stated more fearful than angered. He must be new also or people think he's some sort of eight-handed monster. _Great publicity._

"He's a criminal." DeWolf replied. "You know how they ought to get those stuff."

Peter was now a simple two meters from freedom yet he stopped moving. A part of him wanted to go back and demonstrate his innocence to whatever random crime they were accusing him of. That was probably his proud or dignity. The other logic ground of that brain of his wanted to know something else, there was a piece missing in here. He knew newspapers—a.k.a. the Daily Bugle—would have the new of his crime in no time. _Dear Jonah Jameson must be bouncing in the air with the news of my status now._

Wanted criminal.

But, he would be lying if he said there was another truth tipping on his tongue. Something more; as on cue, DeWolf spoke again. This time a little lower.

"Officers are telling me they're looking for him on the B section." She informed the man by her side. "We need to go out. He's probably gone already. That criminal's faster than any other."

"What do we do then, Captain?" the man asked.

_Captain? But, that's Gwen's father tittle. _As far as he knew he still was_. And what with her calling before Captain Stacy's orders?_

"Call your troops. We're going to the base. On there we'll send the message to the media. Money would serve us well. People and money all together betray even the fittest."

"And are we going to say the truth about the crime, right? About the deaths and the messages, his messages to the public. The menaces to the specific groups." The other man asked after he ordered his men from communicator.

Peter was leaning against a wall—or _a box, _he wasn't sure. He was hearing them but the voices seem to drift off. A tunnel seem at the end of the light now. His eyelids were falling every second. He was fighting for control, for a moment he believed this body was not _his_. The extreme fatigue was betraying the amazing and spectacular part of his title. Also, DeWolf's words with the unknown man wearied him even more. Not that his mental walls were even that strengthen out this days. He was weak, vulnerable, in all sense of the word. So much for being the Awe-inspiring hero.

Was he ever that?

The thought of him being an inspiration. The memories of the numerous fights with the evil menaces seemed to be from to be remembering from a far away friend. One he waved from afar.

Unrecoverable.

The thought that wheeled on his mind was. _I didn't do any of those things. _

_T__hen who? _

"Yes. Shame will be on him, _Spider-man_ and any other follower of his ought to know what's the real mask behind said _hero_." She hollered, a whistle was thrown from her lips. For sure calling back her troops. She was saying more, but he drop it.

Peter used that as his cue. He walked away from the words. His head throbbed. Even do he denied it, the rest of her word's echoed inside his head. Tortuously so, a remembrance of his falling faith. The light blinded his eyes. It was left unnoticed. So were the police men who shot at him. He hurled in the air, to any other place from here. The building were fading, he winged faster.

"_**The **__**criminal, thief**__** and vigilante **__**he is in truth**__**." **__**Her words deemed an anger of no **__**comparison.**_

Each block left behind enticed him more to run. Run from _the truth—__? _He dodged to the right, a corner of a skyscraper almost jounce on his face. He shook his head. The sounds reverberated in his head.

"**_A simple man seeking for a far-from-deserve glory."_ **

He did that, run. Not giving a care other than the want of his company only.

"_Agent M-09 report to base along your men. Commander H-10 follow suit. We're retrieving back. I repeat, we're retrieving back. The prey's gone. I repeat, the prey's **gone**."_

And he was gone, maybe, for sure this time. A common flash appeared before him.

He fell. The last thought on his mind was:_ I'm going to find you._

* * *

"Please. Students calm down."

The classroom was a common as any other. The walls were splashed with a light blue marine color. An odd choose. Rows of students were there, ready for class.

It was the last hour of the day. Minutes ticked by, the students were eager to go, everyone was.

"Mr. Thompson, please, sit down." The teacher—Miss Ginger, the philosophy professor—said. Her light brown hair was flip by the air. "And close that window, please. I realize you're _eager_ to leave but please, we'll finish this last chapter before." She hushed more replies from the complaining class.

Flash did as told, he stood up and close the window. When he sat down, his girlfriend—Shan Sha—smiled at him approvingly. He returned it back.

"Common, Miss Ginger." Robertson said. He was sitting in the middle, right to Flash. "An early departure can be that bad." He said. He leaned back on his chair.

"Yes." Kong added. His elbow was on the table. His head left from it for a second to talk. "We'll be so silent you won't even hear us breathing." He said. Then, nodded.

"I can't hear you breathing now, Mr. Kong." Miss Ginger answered back, a dry tone on her words. "Besides, this video will be excellent for our topic, did I mentioned it'll appear also in our monthly exam."

The whole class groaned at that. Miss Ginger smiled sweetly at them only in response.

She moved out of the way of the board. A squared TV was behind her, students stare boringly as she inserted a CD in the TV. The machine gave it back. Miss Ginger repeated the action and again and again it happened. "What?" She muttered out loud.

"Any problem Miss?" Gwen asked kindly.

"No, I just," the teacher stammered. "It's not working." she said.

"Maybe you're doing it wrong." Harry muttered. Gwen turned to him, he was sitting beside her, to her left. Their table was on the right corner of the room in the middle.

"Harry?" To say the girl was surprised was one thing. The red-headed boy was yet to utter a word that day. "What did you said?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing." he said quietly.

Gwen sighed. She turned to the side. Her chin up in her palm, a defeated look on her face. For the first time in the day, she looked around, searching for the face of a specific person. She didn't found it.

Her face scrunched in confusion. The blond girl turned to the other person she knows will definitely _know_ where is he.

"Mary-Jane?" Gwen whispered. Her chair tilted to the right to lean closer. "Hey."

"Mm-hmm" Mary-Jane answered. "Oh. Gwen. I'm sorry. What is it?" She asked after a second of distraction. She was reading the script from her favorite act.

"I just," Gwen bit her lip, nervously so. "Have you seen, Peter?" She finally asked.

"Peter?" Mary-Jane repeated. "I-" she thought for second. "No." she shook her head. "Not since this morning. Biology Class. Why? Were is him?" She asked after seeing the expression in the other girl's face.

"I don't know." she blurted out. "I mean, I saw him in the fourth hour, just before lunch, but I haven't seen him ever since and you either right?" she asked, worry in her eyes.

"Right."Mary Jane answered. Concern in her eyes too. There was another thing realization.

"What?" Gwen asked after seeing it. "Do you remember anything?"

"He was a little _off_ this morning, when I talked to him." Mary-Jane said. She side-glanced at Gwen, her eyes widen a little, her smile was wary, trying to cover up the meaning of her words "I mean, maybe he felt sick." She shrugged lightly. But, her eyes were still resisting the skeptical look of Gwen.

Another light cross the Gwen's eyes. Guilt, it was so obvious that Mary Jane found herself flinching.

Finally Gwen uttered a faint, "Maybe."

"Off course." Mary Jane added quickly.

Both girls glanced around, ending facing each other again. Care edging on their faces.

Finally, the teacher cleared out his throat. At the same moment, the TV behind her broke into static. Miss Ginger angled her neck to see. All the class gasped. The image of the video changed into a news channel.

Miss Ginger stepped back. Surprise on her features. She sat down on the edge of her desk.

The TV boomed a voice. The image was clear out, the channel came into focus. The voice was one from a reporter.

The headlines popped everyone from their chairs

**SPIDER-MAN, WANTED CRIMINAL.**

"What?" Flash exclaimed. "What's this? Miss Ginger?" Flash stood up, he was baffled.

"I don't know," Miss Ginger shook her head fervently. "Just, I don't."

After the music of the newspaper finished everyone muted.

**"_Good afternoon, New York City." _**A woman said. **_"This is the reporter Samuel in coverage of the latest news of today. One, we assure you, it's true."_**

The image shifted to a second newsman. **_"That's right, Sarah. We'll appreciate greatly the understanding of the public. This news may be emphasized."_**

* * *

"Where are those sauces...?" She questioned aloud. "The house isn't big enough." She stated, then laughed, the sound was muffled by the walls. "Is it?"

"Oh May, I told you maybe they ran out." Anne Watson responded from the kitchen. "Are you sure you're right in looking for them." She called out, an amusing smile on her lips.

"Yes, I'm sure." May said, she was smiling. In her hands were the pair of red peppers sausages she was looking for. "Here they were. What did I told you, Anne. I may have the couple of years over me, but this," May signaled her head. "isn't so old yet." She smiled.

"Mm." Anne laughed. May Parker following suit.

"So, what are they for? I thought the doctor warned you about spices." Anne warning tone was overcasting her words. "And Peter? Does he knows? You know how-"

"-He worries, I know." May sighed. She rounded the table and sat down. A mug of coffee was in the middle, Anne pushed it, motioning to her to take it. May smiled at her old friend and reached for it. "The sauces are for him. It has been so long since I last cooked my special spiced pasta. As far as I remember it was his favorite before." May explained. "Something to give in return for all his worrying around."

Anne smiled in understanding to her eagerness to find those recipients. "You know he just cares." She said quietly. Her hands were facing the wooden-table. "Maybe a little too much." She added after some thought.

"_Maybe_?" May repeated skeptically. "That boy's going to have green hairs if he doesn't stop. I try to make him stopped but he dismisses me by saying it's his job," May sipped her coffee carefully. "In some way, I understand him, Ben used to be the same." May said. A shadow of the past outlined her face. Her stare stare lingered in her mug, staring lost.

Anne sighed. Knowing those lines were still an open wound. "Give him time. He's going to be fine. One or two responsibilities more are not going to kill him." She said. Her chair was pushed forward, she stood up.

"He's just sixteen. Seventeen next month" May cried. "He shouldn't be worrying for things like this."

"You know someday he would. Now is better than later, right?" Anne tried to reason. Her voice was gentle. "May." She called again.

May leaned on her chair. Her mug drank by half. "He should be out enjoying his youth, with friends. You know what I noticed he doesn't tell me about Harry or Gwen anymore, he used to mention them every minute of the day. Now it just like this _nothing_," May stood up, her hands put the chair back to its place. "as though they disappeared." May said, confusion on her voice.

She rounded the table, placing the other chair back. "One month they're fine and the next they're not. I don't understand, I'm trying to, but he doesn't let me." after a second she added. "What about Mary Jane, had she told you about Peter or something?" She asked hopefully.

Anne shook her head in denial. "Not a word."

She walked closer to May. "Maybe it's just temporal."

"Maybe. I don't know," May sighed. She stretched out her arms. "I hope so."

"Let's hope." Anne said. "You know what we should do while waiting for them. We should see the news. Might as well be sure there's not any attack or something."

"Anne, you know they´re safe. I have been watching the news and lately, there hasn't been so much activity."

"Really?"

"No. And I think we should thank that to that gracious Spider-man" May said.

"That's okay. As long as those monsters are far the better." They walked into the living room. Anne moved to sat down on the sofa in front of the TV. May reached for the control remote. She turned on the television.

From the first instance they turned it on, a broadcast and a known music beamed on the screen. Everything was right. Except there was some lining in black, bold letters running on the screen.

**SPIDER-MAN, WANTED CRIMINAL.**

"What?" May asked confusedly. She adjusted her glasses. The words didn't change. "What's this? Are you seeing this?" She asked.

"I think so." Anne Watson stammered. Her head shook in confusion. "What does it mean?"

May only shook her head. The newswoman came and introduced herself. "Shh, they're speaking, let's hear. Maybe they'll explain this."

_**...of the public. This news may be emphasized." **__A blond man said._

An image appeared behind them, a clear shot of Spider-man in action. _**"**__**This afternoon the Police Department of New York City along with the FBI and CIA gave an announcement for the media." **_The man cleared out his throat, as though the words he's about to say were arduous. He seemed nervous.

The man looked directly at the camera. _**"The message said: Effective immediately the citizen known as the Spider-man is deemed as a wanted criminal of the state of NYC and the U.S. Any resistance from him would only enlarge his sentence. One **__**the supreme court would decide for him."**_

May and Anne—they—both gasped at those words. They were unbelievable.

* * *

"That's impossible!"Flash yelled to the TV. Every head on the class turned around to him, they all wore the same bewildered expression. "You know it's all lies from them!" He cried again. Sha-shan was trying to calm him down by pushing him back to his seat, her hand on his elbow. But, he wasn't about to do that. His hero—this city's hero for crying out loud—was being accuse of crimes. Ones that are fake. Immensely so. He was angered.

"It can't be." Mary Jane muttered. For once were expression was one of insecurity. It was wrong, all of it. Spider-man is a hero. He had save her in the past. She'd watched as he fought against villains in order to save the people. That accusation's unbelievable. Had they forgotten what has he done for this city? And if so, how can they do it _so fast?_

"No." Gwen gasped. "It's a misunderstanding." Now more than ever her phone was burning her skin. The desire to call her father and ask for explanations and why's was being prompted by her brain and heart. Spider-man has not save her once nor twice, at least_ three times_. She ought him at least a little concern for his well-being. And her father did know that.

"Yes, finally." Harry said, quietly enough. Delight was on his eyes. _Now you can see it for yourselves New York, he's a simple and plain murderer._

_The image darted to the woman. Another image was shown, this time it was Spider-man leaning against a post in a horizontal way, his hands and feet were together, he was shooting something at the thieves._

* * *

"Oh no."

"_Oh no_?" A man in his mid-forties mockingly ask. "Could you repeat that again so everyone can listen to you. Are you _really_ feeling sorry for this phony?" The man asked. He glanced back to the crowd behind them. The streets were plagued with unmoving men and women. People who were glued to the ground after the broadcast boomed on the streets. Shocking too much the by passers to continue their walk. The crowd grew with each second. Some where glancing between the images of the giant screens of Times Square while others where murmuring between themselves their thinking.

The man who yelled the words make everyone's attention grasp to him. Some of them stayed quiet, not knowing what to say now.

"Shut up and leave her alone." Came the response from the inside of the group of people. An old man stepped in front, his eyeglasses fog a little with the cold breeze.

"Spiderman's a murderer and fake character."

"What he is," He spoke out loud, his voice loud and strong despite his physique. The old man signaled the screens that were showing images from said person. "is nothing less and nothing more than a hero." He turned to the crowd of people. "Isn't he?"

Multiple expression were shown: anger, compassion, fear. But, that one that struck the most was _confusion._

"There you have it." said the man. The old man shook his head in sheer deception, he was anticipating more from them. He walked off the crowd into the streets not desiring to see more.

"_**That said. The NYPD **__**added that a reward would be on the**_," the woman cleared out her throat. "**vigilante**_**.**_" As the other newsman, the words seemed to be difficult to speak.

"_**If you have any information regarding to the founding or location of Spider-man call the following numbers."**_ A series of numbers appeared on the screen, all types of numbers. After a second it was gone.

* * *

"Yes! Yes!" screamed J. Jonah Jameson. His palms pressed on the desk before him. "Ms. Grant call the Police Department tell them we'll give them everything and every help they want." He turned to an open-mouthed Ned Lee. "Lee I want photos, send them photos!"

"To who—"The young reporter quickly asked but was shoved off in seconds.

"To who? My grandma's that resting in peace, _no_! The news channel NOW!" yelled Jameson, his voice echoing inside the whole room in wide decibels.

Every person inside the penthouse of the Daily Bugle scattered around all looking for what to do.

Jameson exited his office and ushered down every single person in the space. "All of you go! I want this all done in the next minute or else you're all fire. And I'm not the unfair myself. All of you, including you over there!" He pointed a guy eating a sandwich in the back. "And I want to know what sandwich are you eating, if it's tuna, you're fired! I hate tuna! I explicitly said that on the contract." Jameson threw his hands to the air on his way back to his office. "Move, move, move! This is a one time chance!"

"Mr. Jameson the police department accepted. They want a word with you tomorrow." Betty Grant said in a practiced rush just before he entered his office.

"On the moon, the bathroom even New Jersey. Date it, and where's my coffee!"

The doors closed behind him, he inhale deeply. Clark Fresnel—from finance—was there. Fidgeting with his tie as usual.

Jameson sigh in pleasure, sitting down on his chair smiling dreamily then it turned into a side to side grin. "Remember the date wall-crawler," Jameson said out loud peering over the rolling news. He glanced through the transparent walls of his office. "Today will be the day your little dangling feet will be imprison! By who? J. Jonah Jameson. By what glorious newspaper? The Daily Bugle!" he exclaimed each word.

"Sir, the article will appear until tomorrow so technically..." The other man trailed off stammering.

Jameson glared at him for a second and yelled. "Did I ask your opinion! No! Then why are you wasting my oxygen. Go get me coffee!"

* * *

"_**That said. The NYPD **__**added that a reward would be on the**_," the woman cleared out her throat. "**vigilante**_**.**_" As the other newsman, the words seemed to be difficult to speak.

"_**If you have any information regarding to the founding or location of Spider-man call the following numbers."**_ A series of numbers appeared on the screen, all types of numbers. After a second it was gone.

"_**They've inform us that t**__**he Daily Bugle would **__**be displaying an article with more detailed information since right now their owner and publisher Mr. Jonah Jameson,"**_ _The female reporter gestured to a photo of Jameson on the back. "__**has had the privilege to speak with the NYPD about it."**_

A rapid succession of photos of Spider-man appeared on the screen, each in a different angle. Some were vertical, other newer, recent events. Something they did have in common. Either of the photos showed Spider-man protecting the people.

It was just him, showing off in the lens.

"_**Furthermore, we announce today Spider-man as our most wanted criminal right now. If you encounter him, do not approach him. Testifiers of the police men said there was some violent reactions from him when the police tried to reason with the vigilante."** He said._

"Well, look at that." Tombstone, ex-big man said. A sardonic laugh escaped his blue-paled lips. "Isn't that irony." He stood up from his—well-known by the rest of prisoners—his bench.

Prisoners around him, all smirk and laughed—enjoying the case of their trapper. Tombstone smiled despite everything at their gleefulness. He was expecting this in some way.

"Let's wait until he gets here." Hammerhead said behind his still current boss. "How many time you bet it'll be, big man?" asked with enough satisfaction the second hand of the big man.

"He'll be here when we're gone. Of that, I'm sure." responded sure enough of this the Tombstone. He eyed each of the guards who we're partially distracted by the news channel too. A smirk crossed his cold stare. "Oh how sure I am. And now that every single police men is distracted by this. At present will be out best timing ever." Tombstone bellowed. "Besides there's no rookie hero to distract us now."

Hammerhead smiled—anything but warmly—at this. "No, there's not." Their eyes returned to the now ending screen.

* * *

"_**The reward and the emergency phone numbers would be displayed in the newspaper"** She said._

"_**The photos and images shown where provided by the Daily Bugle publisher's data." **He said._

"**Photographs by Peter Parker"**_ They said at the same time. **"Have a good day."**_

The screen fade away, but his eyes didn't left the images displayed, either the name nor headlines.

He smiled.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ **I think you're cerebraining a little with the mysterious man below. *smiles* Yeah, he's not who you think it is. But, it's not nobody you know just yet.**

**Winks, Aprilgen98.**


	8. Chapter 7

_**At your Mercy:**_** Chapter 7**

Day 16; Missing** 8**

"**Wake up Spidey, wake up hero!"**

**#**

* * *

Peter bolted upright. The movement sent pain through him almost instantly. His chest and ribs screamed for it. His head was weakened. Panic rose on his chest—creeping on his skin, raising every hair on it—the moment he didn't sense his arms and mask but he ceased it back when he acknowledged they were both still on, thankfully. Peter craned his neck, from side to side, inside his mask, his eyes squeezed, in an effort to calm himself down and think fast. He was confused, in an instant it was gone, replaced with a slight recognition of memories. Mustering enough strength, his eyes shut open. He stared below at his body. But, he saw none. _What? Please don't tell me I'm blind. That will be the shake of my so-nice day._

Fortunately, he wasn't blind. There was no light in the place; whatever place he was. After some shifting of his head and body, he ended up in two conclusions. One, his arm was healed in some way, blood wasn't scurrying down and he also felt a little stronger now, they must've bandaged in some way. _They. _That was where conclusion two came, he was trapped. _Kidnapped,_ he thought sarcastically, _is the word, I think._ Well, that didn't count as an observation, _more like the obvious._

His mind as usual, used the time to think about nothing and everything._ Ladies and gentleman, tonight's the captain says. I'm moving to Canada officially._ Peter snorted at this. _What would that resolved? Doesn't Canada repel the lunatics? There's better places, like that country name Liechtenstein...the name's funny enough...actually…_

Hours or minutes ticked by, he wasn't sure, no soul had entered the place or prison, wherever he was. Peter moved from internal rant to other. Managing to evade the topic at hand by most. At the end, completely defeated, a sigh escaped his lips. His head was thrown backward, coming to rest on the back of the metallic chair he was sitting—so nicely imprison—down.

Memories rustled down, reviving as so the scenes on his head.

He fell. In a literal sense. _I was swinging…and I fell. _After that images of the police and agents flooded his mind. In definition, his status, in remembrance, gave an awful taste on his mouth. Not even mentioning where the heck he was. Somebody must have found him, and seeing as he was so nicely clothed as the New York's most wanted criminal with pretty numbers on his head, they brought him here. Maybe a psychopath with scissors hands was going to come through the door in any second. Or maybe he's confusing story lines. His mind tickled in annoyance at the facts; maybe a dear hater of Spider-man brought him here. _Let's see, today's being a sort of complicated kind-of-day, settled on that it may be a super-baddie with altered genetics or a mad men craving to kill a hero._

Maybe, it's a random lunatic who thought it'll be funny to split in two a random dressed 5'5 boy-wanna-be superhero.

Peter cocked his head to the side, groaning and shaking his head feverishly at his idiocy. He chuckled as the position revealed something else.

_Let's look at it the nice way, the chair's comfortable enough. Dying well-sited isn't that bad, is it?_

After some minutes of more ranting or suppositions of his kidnapper's form, suddenly the lights of the ceiling flashed on, behind him a door seized open. At least that's what he heard. It's either that _or someone's cutting a cow in the same room._ Based on my day the probability for something worst to happen is—

"Homely enough, Spidey?"

A lot.

His eyes almost popped off his head. "Cat?" Spider-man croaked, his throat was dry, he acknowledged it until now that he uttered a word. Months, it'd been months since he last talked to her. Back then it wasn't the best time. He mused in the fact where now was even worst.

"Cat? That's you? Is it you?" Spider-man quickly questioned. Maybe he's also hallucinating now. When Flash appears dressed in a waiter dress bringing chocolate chips cookies, he's going to scream something bad.

"Know another kitty around the big apple?" Black Cat purred at him. Her nail trailing a path between his shoulders blades, Peter shivered at the slender contact. "That hurts." She interjected sweetly.

"Actually, last time I heard there was a bird-man in New Jersey" He replied in a beat. At least, that was intact.

Black Cat smirk in her usual cherish cat way. Her hand was on his shoulder, drumming her digits as she spoke. "Laughable as usual. You don't change, do you? That's the comical part of being you. You never change, always being the never-failing rescuer of masses, the thing with you, heroes, is," She paused deliberately. Her words leaving a trail on his mind.

_What did she meant with all this?_ His mind aimed for a reason to her doing this. The incident on the prison mustn't be, would it be it? He never knew Cat for being such the bitter one. Maybe he's judging her wrongly, what if she'd managed to obtain other motifs during their interlude of no-seeing.

Her index finger tilted her head to the right. Her eyes shifted to his for the first time. And for the first time, he stare back and noticed a shade, hidden from view between her eyelashes, but impossible to cover in her stare. There's an emotion that wasn't before. She was in front of him. Her nail inserted, little by little, on his chest. Spider-man eyed her behind his mask, not emitting a sound. Unsure of her purpose and her words, and unsure if she was the same person he'd known and work together with months ago.

Black Cat leaned to his ear. In a sultry whisper she rumbled hoarsely "People around you are the ones who change. They failed you, don't they? Have they ever betray you, Spider-man?"

"I didn't receive any memo. My mind doesn't recall any wended memo. You can talk to my assistant if you've got any doubts." replied smoothly Spider-man.

Although, his body angled away from hers. Somehow her teasing voice transformed into a cold, empty one. Her known phrases were caught between a sweet tone of disgrace. However that, she lost something...was it her _naivety_? Something happened to her; on the streets for sure.

"Cat," Spider-man called out for her. "What are you doing this? What happened to you?"

He wanted answers; needed them.

"What happened to _**you**_?" Black Cat threw the question back to him. Her elbow moved to her palm, supporting the light weight of her arm. "Have you seen the news, you're all over them. Wanted criminal," She mused out loud. "Wanted criminal, wanted criminal." She repeated, a thoughtful look on her face. "It sounds pretty dramatic for you, doesn't it? I guess you'll have to get used to it. Now, we're in the same category, partner."

_Almost._ "We're not partners, Cat." Spider-man replied. "And I'm not a wanted criminal. It's a misunderstanding"

Black Cat sighed, a smile played on her lips. "You should keep those explanations for the judge, darling." She purred at him. Her smile turned into a smirk. "And I've seen how strong you've been with the police, heard you send someone to the hospital. A broken vessel on his head or something."

Peter's eyes widen at that. _The agent,_ his mind shot immediately. _I thought it was just a broken nose. It couldn't be that he did that, did he?_

"How's he?" He blurted out instantly. His insides where churning together._ I'm not like that, I don't do these things._

Since the day that man—now her boss—contracted her, she'd began in the ceaseless search for him. Imagine her surprise when she found him passed out on a random roof, close to where she was counting shadows in the night, hoping for his silhouette. _**Hoping,**_her mind grounded out._ To catch him, I have him. He's trap._

"He won't last the night, probably. That's what the news channel were saying." The Black Cat detected his worry. She was playing with him. Using his mind against him is her only resource for a fight. He was wounded, he wouldn't stand a chance against her in this state. **You're weak, you're protecting him.** _I'm not. _She wasn't. Was she?

Her weakness, she wasn't weak. She was the Black Cat, thief of the man's dreams. The thought of him, controlling her, fumed her to the core.

Before he answered back to that. Black Cat held his head out, yanking him off his chair by an inch. That was what the metallic ropes allowed her to. "Now you'll listen to me. No games this time." The black-leather-ed woman bellowed to him. Her words stated with a cool tone.

Pepper jounce back from her grasp, a little surprised in her rapid change. "I'm all ears, though, for you and your incomplete answers, maybe not so much."

Her stare pierced through his skin. It wasn't guilt or anger what he felt, it was rather some kind of ache. _Ache?_ Maybe he'd cared for her more than he expected. "Cat, I don't know what happen—"

"You don't know anything!" She jested loudly. Her slender hands curled into fists, shaking with the hidden emotions. "You're making me lose everything, and here you are laughing it off like it was nothing. You want to know the truth of what you are. You're a simple and plain _murderer. _The truth is that, nothing less and nothing _more." _Black Cat spat at him. Her posture was splattered in shaking anger.

Suddenly, she was rushing forward in an instant, her palm contacted with his cheek with an empty slapping sound.

Peter's head yanked backward at the force, not expecting the outburst and still too stunned by her words—the very same DeWolf yelled at him—to skip it. Pain, he felt pain. Burning skin pulsed as he cocked his head back. Peter twisted his tongue on his mouth, scrunching his face in disgusting as he tasted the blood on it. _Split lip, that's going to be harder to explain._

"Anything to say, Spider-man?" sneered the thief. Her form retracted at least a meter away from him.

"It depends, in truth, it does," Spider-man replied. "Do you feel in need to hit me again? I dunno, kick my guts, twist my fingers, and bite my toes..." He trailed off.

"So funny," Black cat purred, her composed demeanor back. Silently, Peter wondered what it was for, pressure was in her because of something. Even more questions. His eyesight peeped as the Black Cat drew back and rifled something on a bag near to her. _I didn't notice that,_ he thought, chastising himself for his vagueness,_ concentrate, remember the MO, distract, remark and don't glance back._

"I'm pretty sure you won't be so amusing after I poke you." she told him.

"Poke me?" Spider-man snorted. "I'll like to see that. I don't know you, but I can't see any branch or ruler here. I don't consider you the archaic type to stab me with a pen or pencil." _Would she really?_ Peter wondered as she smirked only in response.

From her back, she pounced an object. Peter inhale sharply, his body tensed right away. A needle.

"What did I told you," She rotated the needle on her hand, pecking the top of the thick material lightly with her index finger. "You're as tense as a brick of wall now, Spidey, why's that? Fear, you won't even feel it."

"I assure you, my appointment with the doc is until the next month," Spider-man joked as an answer. His eyes scanning the room in a fast succession. His voice didn't wavered. "Can't we call it an early departure if we just skipped this part? We can pass to the whole candy-and-pat-in-the-back scenario, I'll promise to yell in pain if you want."

Black Cat stare didn't falter from the object. "I want you to cry out in pain for real. Can you give me that? A true thing, because as far as I've seen you in all places from the newspapers to the physical image, you're yet to show me your true self. Why hiding so much?" She snarled. "You try for everything in the world to do what you do, why?"

Spider-man's voice was steady and low. "Tough question, how big is the needle, you'd said?"

She walked forward, needle exposed, she bended, a hand reaching for her leg. Attached to it was a medium sized controller, she pressed the middle blue button. A whirling sound resounded. His ribs were pushed inward, Peter grunted lowly as his arm and leg were contracted together. The handles on the silver-metal chair were pressed even more to his skin. Black Cat pivot to him, grasping him by his neck and shoving him to the side as the needle hovered over it.

In a rush of breath, Spider-man beamed, "Cat, I don't know and have no idea what happened to you. But, I assure you, I can help you. I know you wouldn't do this on purpose, someone must've force you into this. I can help you, you know I can,"

"You're a lie and distraction," replied the thief. She, out of the corner of her eye, stared at him. "and you can't help me, you're part of _my_ problems, the same ones I'm resolving at hand. Don't try to fool me into you."

Peter tried to senselessly shift on the chair. The transparent shinning-object didn't moved. "If you do this. Do you have any idea what your boss, do you even know who the heck he is, would do with my blood. Thousands of people's lives may be endangered, because of you."

Black Cat hesitated. Her hand quivered. She rustled coarsely an "I don't care." and inserted the needle on the boy's exposed neck.

Peter bit his bottom lip, stopping himself from yelling. After what felt like an eternity, she yanked off the now-filled utensil. Black Cat regarded it, lifting it up, the light reflected on it.

"So much fight for this? People are plainly useless." Black Cat cooed. She peeped up at Spider-man. "Don't leave a work due for a slim feline's paw to the rough, undeniable hands of the incompetent men."

"Hey," Spider-man said. "Man here."

Black Cat placed the needle inside a compartment—gray, oval, and with an electronic lock—and said

thing was tossed on the bag from before.

Spider-man struggled more and more inside his chair, _where are the miracles when you need them? _He thought desperately as he watched Black Cat slung the bag over her shoulder. Another thing came from her bag, a gun.

"I'm sorry, Spider-man" The seal of the gun was off with a move from her hand "But now I work for the major leagues, this cat's more than a simple street's burglar now. Now, I am better."

Spider-man seethed. "Since the first day you've been better already Cat, in everything. You just needed some guidance, now I can see how blinded you are. I don't blame you though." the wall-crawler said. "People does mistakes."

Black Cat stared at him, "Damn it," she muttered, then she lowered the gun. For an expecting second he thought his words reached her. But in a spun, Black Cat raised the weapon again and fired.

**#**

Before she did that something shattered behind her. The door busted open. They both cringed. A red light washed over them, the yellow light from the ceiling deemed on and off in a rhythmic song.

**#**

Flickers of sparks, chips and rubbish flew through the air. Peter squinted his eyes from the blazing light, "Cat?" He called out for her, yelling. His response came as a grunting at the level of his feet, he pushed forward on the chair. Wishing to be free already_. Super strength, common._

He glanced up and saw something unexpected. A man stood there or rather an armored man was there. His outlines were new and sophisticated. From his position, the poor light didn't cast the colors and details from the armor enough for him to try and identified him, each were a little blurred.

"What the—" Spider-man said. "Who are you?" He demanded. His eyes roamed the new person strangely. His eyesight shifted to the almost-conscious Black Cat.

His answer came as a whirling sound only. The neon teal eyes turned to Black Cat, in exchange behind the mask Peter's eyes widen. _Not today_

The metaled-man advanced on his way. Peter peeked over himself and instantly spotted a small crack down on the chair, near the center over his arms—made surely by the sparks—he closed his eyes, concentrating on his strength and marshaling enough to allow a growl from the effort. The armored man turned to him as he heard Spider-man's yell. Inch by inch, the metal bended. Pushing the remains from the metal, he tug them forward, as so making the unannounced villain swirl on his place at the contact with the metal.

Now free, Spider-man called, "Hey there pal, what are you doing? Having fun blasting up walls." He stated. "So sorry to say this party is unwelcoming metal-high tech neon-like, raunchy guys."

The armored man only shook his head in response. The villain barely moved as Spider-man launched all over him some web-bags. _Need a better name._ Suddenly, the metaled-man lurched to him, Spider-man discerned this, _**My Spider-sense**_, and he broke-off from the route and jounced himself to the wall. However, that was the least important, the armored anonymous lifted his arms, his spider-senses blared off as the armored-lite guy arms' engaged in rows of missiles and lasers.

Time for intervention, naming for later.

Spider-man hurled him off his feet as he wrenched with a web his body. The armored man snatch the wall-crawler to the side, in a blinding jerk, his back connected with the wall. The hero shook his head, stepping as fast as possible from the wobbliness. His head stood in time to see the neon man draw Cat from the floor and fetch her to his metallic shoulder. Straight off, he jostled to the man. Just in time for said man to shove him off his feet also, wrapping his feet together as he took Black Cat's too. Spider-man fought against it. Seconds passed by as the man blasted the wall behind them with a missile, Peter's eyes squinted with the flying sparks on the air. Perilously, he yanked web from his shooter, aiming as he flew through the air with the mysterious man above him. His vision was an upside-down one.

"Hey, there buddy!" the guy didn't acknowledge his presence and just continued his blasting though walls. "Can I call you Buddy?" Spider-man shouted again as they passed through another area. Now, the outlines were ones from an abandoned factory, maybe a production line from electro domestics. He threw a web to his face and the guy just tossed it aside.

Spider-man stopped doing this when in impromptu, the man threw him to the ground, together with Black Cat, now conscious, and they rolled in the floor. Peter sighed, even do his arm was bleeding apparently due to the fall. "Oh. I see. So you don't like it? Right care to tell me your name then." he gestured with his hands. The guy stayed silent. His back to him.

"Okay then. So I have a couple of ideas. Titanium anonymity? Silent Steel? Cutting neon? Amazing blasting-cement man? Uncanny silvered guy? Common, your choice, buddy" he asked and this time his spider-senses activated. The guy threw a small projectile at him. He dodged a second one, his feet hit the ground. He continued to snarl. The armored guy seemed to be annoyed by him, in a silent war at least.

_Bingo._

"Don't like them, yeah me neither, Too lames." he make a shivering gesture and he heard a faint grumble of words.

"What, sorry?" he mocked around and the armored man shoot energy blasts at him.

_Energy blasts._

Immediately the mockery stopped for Spider-man. He nudged in the air as his mind reeled in thought._ The blasts,_ he bemused, _they're exactly the same ones._

And he wasn't mistaken. His memory on these things, didn't wavered. _This must be the guy that sent me through that wall and attacked the police. What's he doing here? _Was he looking for him or for the Black Cat? Since he brought her here too.

Spider-man decided to scan a little more the area, the factory, where they were, was infested with moving lines for production. He spotted some electronic arms, for sure used to help assemble the machines. Some rows of panels concluded the design of the wide-range place.

_**My Spider-sense**_

Out of the blue, orange-whited ones were the ones threw at him. He skipped every single one, turning upside-down and crawling near a wall. Peter caught a few and far glances from Cat, she was doing the same. He heard a few yells, he turned and saw the Black Cat speaking with the guy. More like shouting at him.

An idea struck him as he watched this.

_Right, first off, distractions, the best and worst part of the job_. The blasts continued and Spider-man evaded them all, one almost touched his right thigh at the same time a miniature rocket was aimed at him, he lifted both hands in a somehow way of surrender.

"Wait! Wait! Wouldn't you have mercy and let me have my last words?" he begged mockingly for the mysterious man, even he was surprised but his weapon was still purposed on Peter. He made a movement as to encourage him to talk then. _What now?_He discreetly peeked over the shoulder of the guy and saw the Black Cat fallen next to a pile of garbage. Two things can happen now, be the hero or the villain here. _Forget that,_ more seconds, he was ready for the perfect moment or _when he's busy enough killing me_. He focused on the armored man in front of him and yelled the first thing in mind.

"So, what do you said about The Iron Muteness, I think Iron Man hasn't patented it yet." Those were his last words before a white flash mirrored his vision and as Spider-man engaged, with a giant web, the main controllers from the machines behind the guy. The armored man stumbled on his feet, due to the now-moving line below him, Peter used the imbalance as his chance. With a swing aimed to the top of the ceiling, he hurled in the air, involving the man with webs like a gift, more stumbles, the guy fell as a couple of unused electronic arms hovered above him, quite oxidized to move rightly, but useful enough to block the metallic man's vision partially.

Peter landed on the floor. The armored man now fully-wrapped in the middle of the place. Except for his nose and mouth. He was squirming.

"Don't you look better like this? So nicely wrap, your welcome." Spider-man said. "So, I don't know you, but, care to explain your precedence place."

"He won't talk," Black Cat said behind him. Peter jumped as she walked closer to him.

"Did he learned it from you?" sarcastically questioned the Spider-man. He hadn't forgot their _talk._

"No," she snapped, her body now facing his. "Haven't you thought about,_ maybe_ he'd learned it from you, seeing as New York's hero now-villain—"

"Well, dusting other's needs again, aren't we, you're surely—"

They stopped.

A mechanic whirl buzzed through the air. Spider-senses tingled. Peter jerked forward and slam Black Cat to the floor, he was over here. At the same time, a miniaturized explosion occurred. He covered her. The armored man from before was there, before they could defend, the guy yanked them backwards by their feet again, and with its robotic hands, he launched them to the window.

Broken glass, a yell and a shrill.

Time repeats itself, doesn't it? Seconds, minutes, hours, rushed in a well-known crystallized dance. Was he cursed to abate the unknown lands of time, losing it all in the blank spades of this tainted purpose?

There's a question.

_Give or lose?_

Peter yelped just before they crash-landed. Snapping out of the dream land. A line of web angled them by a simple meter—life saving meter—from the pile of pulverized glass. The cool night air greeted his sweated body. Rockets echoed in the outside now. He twisted in the spot, wrist aiming for the man. He yanked forward, pushing him to the floor with another web, still fighting.

"Watch out!"

He hurled as a blast almost incinerate him. Black Cat was the one to jounce him off the danger this time. Spider-man threw webs over the guy as he was pushed down. With the action, the bag—that surprisingly enough—was pressed to her back during all the fight, smashed to the floor, next to him as she saved him. In a time-stopping second they stared at each others eyes. The soft breeze waved her white hair gently, her expression was confused. Her lips were closer than ever. Just as they were that night. The mask enfolded his confounded expression. Why was he thinking about the wild softness of her mouth? Simple seconds scurried down. Spider-man touched the bag, her eyes saw this but she curved her head to the other side. Why? From the moment she spoke, sadness was ever-present.

"There's a small failure of design in the man's upper arm. An opening is there, maybe a lock. I'm going to attack him from there, aim at it with my claws." she said in a calm tone. Her back was facing him, he left shoulder lowered as her head peeked a look over shoulder, to him. "If I were you, I'll be checking that arm."

With that, she fastened to action seeing as the robotic man was breaking free from the mess of webs. Although, forgetting as so, the bag with him. He grasp it tightly.

Spider-man was nudged from the scene by the burning pain from his left arm or maybe for other reasons, with his good arm, he swung upward, the line marking its mode as he jumped through the air.

His mind in absolute emptiness for once.

**#**

His eyes saw Spider-man leaved. He drop the girl and ran from the place. The hero was gone, no need for the villain to fight against others.

**#**

Black Cat was pushed down when the armored man's jet boots were used to swing her, trouncing her to the ground. She grunted, the silver shadow flew away, with a spun of her head, she watched as the red-and-blue disappeared too. Where should she go?

Her phone buzzed on her leg. She bended down, dreading the voice and answered.

"Yes?"

"Poor little cat, did your mouse ran away? Do you know what that means?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Funny you asked, a rat appeared before I could do anything."

"One time chance, you'd ruined a one-time chance. How do you expect us to react Black Cat?"

The girl based herself up, her knees bended slowly, her stare was piercing. "By allowing me catch him in my own ways. You'd say it for yourself," she purred. "The view's tempting enough."

"Ah," acknowledged the man. "I see. Well, in that case, you shall trap him then. However, _if_ you don't,"

"I'm aware of that," she replied. "That's why I'm doing it already. I'm an early starter"


	9. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note: **_**Yeah, don't say it. I know, I know. I'm so sorry for the delay. But I've been working on other projects and I know I shouldn't at the same time. But *shrugs* what can we do? Anyway, here is the chapter. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Also, a huge thank you to everybody who has posted a review for this story. Each one of them have been well-received, believe me! You flatter me. Feel free to review, good, bad, and indecisive, don't mind just review! Thank you. **

**And thank you for every follow/favorite.**

**Okay, that's about it. Let's read.**

XxXxXxX

_**At Your Mercy**_**: Chapter 8**

**#**

"Anything else you need sir?" asked politely the small woman behind the casher.

Peter looked up, open mouthed, quickly it turned into a weak smile. "No, thank you ma'am."

The woman behind the casher smiled shyly back. "Alright. Then it's 10. 50 for you"

She eyed him for a while longer as the computer acknowledge his purchase with the ticket. But she drop it as fast as he plunked the change from his money in his pocket and ambled back without another word.

…

The white-shimmered walls wished him away just as the he pulled open the glass door from the pharmacy. Peter drew the bag, full of his purchase, closer to him. Cool. Outside the air felt cleaner for some reason.

With one quick glance he scanned the streets, they were empty and lifeless, and no soul seemed in the mood to wander around the lone pavements tonight apparently. And_ apparently_ he didn't have a sense of time anymore since a peered over one of the passing shops informed him with the rolling TV's of an all-nighter that time ticked as 4: 45 a.m.

Out of habit, he tugged his phone from his pocket. Checking the screen only made him sigh deeper. There was a crocked line in the screen, sure, another thing to explain. Probably hide.

_Hide._

He was due to hide, to cover up his steps as the prey he was supposed to be now. Now people were supposed to be planning and conjuring his every step, every breath and every _blink_ as nothing less and nothing more than useless living.

He was useless now.

As valued and appreciated as the daily air that filled your breath with that so needed _life_. Although you realized until some point things are needed, essentially needed until the boiling point of banishment.

Lost; you don't value things until they're lost.

_Oh I know that, believe me. _

The palette of the sky was beginning to color. The light was soon creeping on his feet, slowly and gently, rising and rising inch per inch. The invasion was well welcomed. The light was unstoppable.

In that instant, Peter stopped and inhaled deeply. Things have an end. All things equally. If he was supposed to be a villain now then so be it. But he won't transform into one per se. A true wanted criminal was out there. A living shadow tainted with the guilt—a guilt that's _his._

There was no way Spider-man was going to let him be. Full well knowing the next victim could be painfully suffering right now.

_No,_ Peter shook his head. _There won't be any other victim._

With a resolute nod to himself Peter twisted his fists together.

There's no time for weakness.

Suddenly a hiss escaped his lips. In a quick glance he saw the blur of a man. Christ, a bump on the street and his vision was clouding already. He was too distracted by the sudden remembrance of the pain to distinguish the figure.

"Maybe there's time for a little patching around." Peter breathed while laughing lightly.

With a gaze in the front, he left behind the rest of the night as he marched into the light of another day.

**XxXxXxX**

"Phil I'm here…where's everyone else?"

"You're late."

"So…?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "The boss was here already…and you weren't"

The man visibly paled a little. He cleared his throat, rather loudly. "Where is he?"

"In the office."

"Right…wish me luck."

"I don't." replied the man when he left. "I really don't"

…

The man was sitting down in the middle of the room, gaze steady and unmoving from a perfect, white dot on his screen.

"We found it."

"What?" The man—in his mid-thirties, black hair, messy beard and high cheekbones—asked confusedly. Maybe everyone's right. Maybe Phil was right. As usual his partner was right. Or was _he_ the partner? That part always confused him. But that wasn't his concern now. As he blinked up to the head scientist on the room he knew. He knew it from the moment he saw the wicked and triumphant smile. He knew it from the moment he registered the existence of the single blinking light at the center of the biggest computer on the room. Definitely, he processed it as he handed the black phone.

They found it.

He didn't know what to think about that.

He didn't know what to say about that.

Less do.

Even less . . . why did they called him for? A lurch formed in his stomach. Twisting his insides in thought. Why? He was a nobody. Nobodies stay as that.

Don't they?

"You," The head scientist signaled him. He nodded gesturing himself. The Head scientist nodded back, smiling. He didn't like it for any second. Things were moving fast after that.

"Can you see it?"

"Yes." He stammered. It was . . . in a wicked sense, a _distressing _kind of thing. He was distressed.

"Excellent. You'll help me find it."

"Wait," He shook his head and gestured the image. "Didn't you find it already? It's in here, isn't it?" The Head scientist nodded, still smiling. He frowned, he felt like punching him now. Confusion was ever present on his next words. "What do you need me for then? If not to find it then . . . for what?"

The Head scientist tilted his head. The lack of glasses let him notice the archaic dark green shade of his eyes. More disturbing things. He frowned deeper. "So?"

"Let's just say," The Head scientist spoke as he made his way to the computer of the other side of the room. He spoke amid the clicking and clacking of keyboards. "this creature is foreign to us. We've been barely able to localize it. Thus the reason we need you to go."

"You, I mean, we need you to go . . . who's we? And why me? They're far better trained men out there." He signaled the metallic closed doors. Then his hand pointed at his chest. "I'm nobody." He breathed.

The Head scientist smiled. "Exactly what we're looking for."

**XxXxXxX**

It was irritating him now. The fact where he was coward in this whole scenario.

Ten minutes, he had been there for ten longing minutes outside the house, rocking on his heels in anticipation. Anticipation of what? Peter shuddered. Aunt May could be scaring when she wanted to be. Just as Gwen and her look.

Gwen.

That made him stop. Break into the endless remainders of the ones he leaves behind every time the needed called for him. And then realizing they don't actually called for him as they rather called for the litigious hero he was acknowledged as.

But they weren't waiting for him, not anymore.

Who would feel safe around a wanted criminal?

Who would feel safe around him?

He didn't.

Then there was a voice.

"Peter?"

He froze.

"Peter." It said now, the words were uttered with a sense of worry mixed up with a gasp.

Sooner rather than later, arms where around him, spinning him around and clinging to him in desperate need.

"…MJ" Peter said quietly. Returning her embrace, one arm circling around her as he, for the life of him and everything else that mattered, stayed quiet as she pressed tighter on his body and arm. It wasn't her fault. He stayed there a little longer than he expected, but he wasn't the one who broke it, it was her.

"Peter!" She gasped. "Where have you been? We were worried something had happened. We called…where's your phone anyway...Are you okay?"

"Whoa," Peter reached and squeezed her shoulders, trying to comfort her. "I'm fine, MJ. My phone is…discharged and I'm sorry you were worried." He had the urge to ask who were the ones worried about him but he tossed aside the idea as he moped his brain for any idea or rather _excuse_ to explain his absence.

"You didn't answer me." MJ said. Her voice was soft now. Her hair was down and she had her arms folded together in front of her, a faint frown on her features, she had been worried for him and here he was, lying to her once more.

"A project." Peter blurted out.

"A project?" MJ repeated slower.

"Yes. I mean, it isn't what you think—" he began seeing as confusion—and something else he realized was anger—was engulfing her face. He was yet to see her mad, and he wasn't about to start now.

Peter raised his hands and gestured with them quickly. "It's not what you think because I had good reasons to be working on it. And I realized it was stupid from me not to call, I know that and I'm sorry but I lost track of time during my… recreational activities."

Being banged up and down, shot and semi-kidnapped were all recreational activities. He didn't remember when things started to time as this. He was doomed.

"What's in the bag?"

Oh he was.

"Nothing. I mean no nothing. Just…parts of the project." It sounded lame, so lame in his head that he felt worst that the gangs he fought sometimes in the streets.

"Parts?" MJ echoed, confusion in her voice. "What kind of parts? Actually," She sighed. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're okay." Her eyes widen suddenly. "Your Aunt, she's in my house."

"You're house?" Peter echoed. "Why?" He inched apart from her, studying her face and words.

MJ looked away, speaking softly. "She was worried and . . . My aunt offered her the guest room, said too much worry wasn't good for her." She angled to him. "I'm sorry, Tiger."

Peter cringed. "Right. I—" He began. "Can you call her? No, wait, better I'll do it."

They crossed the street in silence. A few times MJ casted a glance to him, her eyebrows knitted together. Peter tried to appear innocent. It was too hard when—well knowing—you are guilty of charge.

…

"Peter! My God . . . are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Aunt May."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes roamed his face. "For sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw MJ walked toward a door, her aunt was there. They were speaking softly. Surely of him. MJ threw some glances to him. She smiled. Tiny, reassuring and forgiving. Maybe he had been wrong all this time. Looking at their faces he realized. He didn't deserve this compassion.

Aunt May's voice brought him back.

"Dear . . . where were you?" Aunt May demanded, albeit gently with her motherly hands and voice.

"I'm sorry, Aunt May. I was working—"

"—working? Now that's it. I'm going to speak with that boss of yours."

"Wait, what?" Peter's eye widen. "No good will end up from that Aunt May, let's say Jameson isn't the most flexible being on earth. And it wasn't that the reason—" He was cut off again. Mentally flinching as he watched Aunt May's angry flustered face.

"He'll listen to me." Aunt May held his upper arms. "He can't make you work like this, _senselessly_! For what, invading the space of a human being. If anything he should leave alone that dear man . . . and you should too."

"Dear Man? Are . . . are _you_ referring to _Spider-man_?" Peter asked, stammering, surprise in his face. What had he done to have her support? Were there other people as her, thinking of him, giving him a second chance, having mercy of him?

"Yes." Aunt May nodded. "I won't let any niece from mine invade the privacy of such an aider like Spider-man."

"Aider?" Peter mumbled. He cleared his throat and look to the sides. "Al right." There was no point in arguing with her.

"Good. Now, let's go home, okay? It's being a long night for all, you need to rest too . . . you look so tired."

He did. "I guess." Peter nodded. "Thank you Aunt May."

"Oh dear," Aunt May turned to him. "Don't thank me so soon. I haven't mentioned yet the new imposed curfew." She resumed walking.

Peter could only flinched.

**XxXxXxX**

"What was I supposed to do? Stay there and waste more time? Of course I wasn't about to do that! I wouldn't give that bug a second of my time!" _And I'm considering this wasted already_. He didn't voice those thoughts. There was no need. Everybody knew. Everybody should know by now the purposes of the _**Beetle**_. They should.

The man didn't bat an eye as he heard the useless speech. He strolled the space again. His eyes meticulously looking out for errors and misplaces.

Wide, enormous, and silvered walls encased the place. Both organized and messy rows of wire weaponry were above them. There was no site to see where it wasn't present, preparation was always an issue. Backup, for the backup, for the backup. So much work, so close to the goal and this arrogant man wasn't about to jeopardize it.

"That's enough."

The Beetle spun on his heels. His eyebrow rising to his hairline. In his last hour of complaints the man was yet to speak. Maybe he finally managed to get on his nerves. He was expecting this moment since some time ago, he'd wondered how it'll look like.

The man stared at him, Beetle questioning glance asked a thousand things he didn't know. He didn't say. He didn't want to do anymore. The man hollered out loud. His voice echoing.

"Motivation. Purpose. Hope . . . The human mind is full of those resources in order to sustain his needed movement, his needed fuel for each day of his pithy life. But," A pause. "What if we take that, what if we lashed that out back to them, what if—"

"They are too many _what if's _in this conversation." The Beetle huffed. "We can't base ourselves on suppositions and theorizations! We need to act; quick, smooth, and above all _soon_. The more time we take on everything; thinking and dashing out circles, the more time _he _will have to prepare for us. We've seen it before, we've studied it before a thousand times! That's the reason all those frauds had failed."

"Spider-man's too versatile for us."

"Then, why_, oh why_ are we trying to win over him? Tell me please."

The Beetle crossed his arms stubbornly. Reason were needed if he was going to risk his back on this. The money was fine, but it wasn't _that_ good and motivating. He said it for himself. Humans, he, needed motivation to do any motion at all.

The man didn't blink as he spoke. His eyes never leaving his.

"Every special foe is in _need_ of a special army to track him down. The giant green monster has his army of green-splattered men and women. They have their ways. Violence against violence, strength against strength. That's their strategy. It can't be ours. Another motive why they'd fail before, they compared him as they want. Not thinking for a second the brilliant specimen they have in their hands."

"Spider-man has no army now."

"And we can't use the same one as an exact copy of the last one. We need first-hand material. Fresh one and old one can be revolted too. Like I said, our enemy's versatile, adaptable to change. That's seems to be unfair for me. For the same reason our cause will be to dash him out of himself. Too rapid change, too rapid problems, too rapid errors." A pause. "He won't be able to find himself when we finish with him. He'll end, for once and for all."

"That said, _we _as an army, need a division—specialized for our purpose only, killing and squashing an arachnid. Furthermore, you'll unite our . . . let's say _squadron_. Starting today."

"Today?" The Beetle echoed. Speechless. No longer in disagreement.

"Right now, son, it's the best time. Our enemy's weak after all." the man smirked behind the shadow of his drive. "Let's toy with him, shall we?"

XxXxXxX

_**Author's Note:**_** Okay, I know nothing at all happened on this chapter. I don't know if it sounds boring, so many babble of me and characters. But that's my way I guess and I can't help it. Hope you liked it. Anyway this was a filter for the action. Trust me when I say the rightful amount of action you search when looking for this amazing hero will be granted in the next couple of chapters! Stay tuned! Next chapter's coming soon enough.**

**Oh and BTW reviews are highly appreciated and demanded for daily juices of inspiration. Thank you for reading. **

_**Aprilgen98**_


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**** New Chapter's here. **

**Thank you for your reviews! And I hope this chapter suffices you for a while. Nice reviews might produce more! *winks* Oh and feel free to PM if you have ideas.  
**

**Let's read!**

XxXxXxX

**At Your Mercy: **_Chapter 9_

XxXxXxX

**7:10 a.m. **

**_Click._**

_"_With respect to the family this News Channel along with every single New Yorker dismays this morning latest report. However the truth persists." The man's frown deepened. "George Stacy, Captain of the Police Department since the last ten years was shot this afternoon as he mobilized agents to the _beforehand_ informed report of the attack on the center of the city, he was injured moments before Spider-man appeared, as testifiers say, 'out of the blue' and began damaging public property and almost injuring at least twenty unities at the other side of the city." The reporter rifled through some papers quickly.

_"_Captain Stacy was shot at** 4:52** to be precise. Local viewers said they saw a red blurred silhouette allocated in the twentieth floor of a close building. Police men agreed with it, saying it came and left like a _ghost_." A pause. The man turned to look the camera directly. "Whilst the well-trained police men called and awaited for the Ambulance, they were confirmed minutes later of the interference of the Spider-man in the attack on the center of the city. They took the barely conscious Captain Stacy to the van and at the Hospital he was treated by two abdominal wounds and one on his shoulder, the doctors confirmed this and they gave their comments, we quote: _'The bullets wounds were precise, clean perforations. Not alike any normal street killer could've done it.'"_

"The attack ended. Captain Stacy was send to urgent surgery with an alarming blood loss. Thankfully hours later he woke up, barely conscious, but conscious enough to name Jean DeWolff as Interim Captain of the Police until new say." A photo appeared, DeWolff saluting next to Stacy. "_DeWolff lost no time. Since the minute she stepped from the hospital she proceed the search for the currently only suspect—_"

"The most amazing and unluckiest Spider-man the world has ever seen." Sing-sang Peter as he fake white-blank cheerfulness. He bit the inside of his cheek at the sudden anger that was beginning to creep on his skin. How could they do this? To Captain Stacy? After everything he'd done for this city's safety! Anger rose from the tip of his chest. Flushing his face somewhat, he wanted to…

"Pardon?" said Aunt May with a smile as she entered the living room through the kitchen's threshold, a dish on her hand, a smile on her face.

"Oh. Nothing Aunt May." Peter stood up hastily when heard her voice. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, and smiled wearily. "Just some news reports…" he trailed off, not needing to explain the already known facts, and involuntarily his face twisted in a dark grimace. An idea sorted from his mind, he opened his mouth, not quite verbalizing it right away. "Aunt May have you. . . I mean, _called_… I mean." He stammered not knowing how to ask it.

"…Gwen, you mean, son?" Aunt May finished for him with her own sadness mirrored in her face.

"Yeah." He replied in a beat.

"No, darling. I haven't. I'd tried, but, they aren't answering, neither of them are." She sighed. "I just hope George ends up all right after this. Such wounds aren't an easy go." Her sentence ended with a punctuated shake of her head. She re-entered the kitchen allowing Peter the time to wince slightly as he ever-so-slowly rubbed his arm in painful remembrance_. You bet it does, _He thought with a quiet, sharp drew in of breath.

"Anyway, Aunt May?" Peter called hesitantly. "I think I'll go now." He said, hoping she won't notice him at all.

May stopped what she was doing. _No luck._ "No breakfast? But . . . it's just about ready, _Peter._ You can wait some more minutes." There was her protective and devoting tone. Her concerned face…

**And ladies and gentleman, that's how guilty is born!**

"I'm not hungry Aunt May." Peter replied taking the time to adjust the messenger bag, his eyes not meeting hers. He craned his neck to direct his voice as he swiveled on his heels. "I'm really not, I swear, I just… lunch will suffice." He finished lamely, saying the truth, _half_ the truth. He didn't mention the fact where his stomach might not resist so much after the tiredness he felt. It was as if his whole body converted into this big, giant, sore bruise.

He literally ached everywhere.

"I—" Aunt May sighed softly. "I'll pass you this one." She looked up from her glasses. "But be sure we'll discuss more intently when you get back home, gentleman." She added too. "And be home at nine. No negotiations." She finished when he opened his mouth.

Peter relented with slump shoulders. "Okay." He replied.

"Okay. Have a good day, my boy." Aunt May leaned in and kiss his forehead.

A tentative smile crossed his features. Maybe, he could hope too.

**XxXxXxX**

**5:59 a.m.**

**_Click._**

The rain fell from the sky in pools of water over her. Black Cat found herself leaping between the slippery slopes of roofs. She waxed herself swiftly as she hurled, finally stopping at last. Her eyes shone mischievously. The night's inky darkness mirrored her stare.

"The Empire State Building, huh." Rumbled the cat burglar as she leaned against one of the closest wet perches of the perpendicular roof, she had her knees bended to the side, ready to fight anything and everyone on her way. That was the idea. "Consider yourself rob already." She smirked self-assuredly.

…

"Billy, are you sure you can with those?" asked Martha Connors as she smiled fondly at her son. "You sure?"

"Absolutely Mom, common it's just a little box!" replied back exclaiming Billy Connors. He turned on his heels, humming a song he heard on the radio the other day. Without stopping he spun the box, squinting his eyes in the dark trying to decipher the name where he needed to get things from. "Oh, it's says . . . the … Mental?" Billy shuddered. "Okay, maybe it wasn't the best of ideas. That place's creepy" he muttered.

"Woah!" Billy stumbled to the ground, the empty box fell a meter across from him.

"What?" blinked the boy as he knitted his eyebrows together, confused as to why he fell out of the blue. Suddenly, he froze. There was a rope on the floor, and attached to it was—

"Shhhh," The woman in black leather whispered sweetly. Her hand reaching to cup his cheek, before he could yell, the woman had her hand on his mouth. "You can yell now." She said as she pulled something from her belt.

…

Curt and Martha Connors rushed frantically from the Main lab as they heard their son scream. "It came from the mental!" Martha exclaimed, face flushed in fear.

Curt Connors shook his head once they arrived. "Billy! Billy!"

"Don't worry," they both turned to the strange female voice. In a spun, she had Billy Connors between a knife and her body. "He seems to be fine . . . so far." Sing-sang the woman in black leather.

"What do you want?" Connors asked instantly.

"The codes from this" She gestured to the electronic locks from the doors.

"What? I can't! Some of them are wanted criminals!" Curt Connors bellowed angrily. "You can't be serious." The doctor shook his head feverishly in denial. "I won't, I can't, there's—"

"Very well then," the knife inched closer to Billy's throat. "So, he dies." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Wait!" yelled simultaneously the Connors. "I'll give them! I'll give them to you . . . just . . . don't hurt him." Begged Martha Connors tearfully.

Martha Connors stepped forward. One for one, with trembling digits, she pressed the well-known codes to free those who shouldn't see daylight again for fear they'll seek for the dark all over again. They weren't ready. Maybe never will be.

The doors split open.

Black Cat gestured and Martha, albeit reluctantly, deactivated their inhibitors from their powers. Somehow freedom managed to smell rotten in the air.

Every shadow on sight dashed out of its hidden when the Electro flared lightings of electricity from his now-bare hands. Jameson was shaking his head feverishly at the light. And Eddie Brock had his mouth curved downward.

"Well, it's a pleasure to see you sweethearts." Black Cat said, a tentative smile curled from her mouth. "Although there's no time for proper introductions. We're running on a timing."

She turned toward the exit. "Let's go"

"Why should we?" Electro spoke out loud, anger sipping from his words. "Why should _I?_ I don't need to follow you! I don't give a damn on why you freed me or _who-the-hell _you did it for. But I'm sure I can make my own way through!" As to make his point clear, electricity suddenly splayed from his hands once again.

Black Cat didn't waver.

"Do it then." The Black Cat said, her tone steady, a smirk trespassing her features. "Just listen when I tell you the path I'll show you and the one you'll be leaving through will have _very_ different ends. A high security jail may be in _yours_." She purred the last part, inching closer to Electro and the rest.

"What about us?" Eddie Brock paced headfirst. His eyes roaming everything.

Black Cat smirked lasted _long_ enough. "My boss has a promise for you, us, come with me and you'll find out."

The villains exchanged meaningful glances.

Reluctant in faith but assure in hope.

They followed her.

The curiosity killed the cat, didn't it?

Curt and Martha hugged Billy tightly and they watch them go silently, bodies cornered together. Before they crossed the exit, though, Black Cat craned her neck and said. "Go ahead and call the police—" Seeing their expression she added. "And don't worry my boss is not interested in killing people . . . let's say . . . casually." Her hair was flip as the door flew open by a kick of Jameson. The last thing they saw was her narrowed, beautiful eyes and the sound of screeching wheels. Of course, they'll mug the rented van.

And then she was gone.

Curt Connors rummaged his pocket quickly, fishing it out he eyed the phone on his hand. Martha glanced between him and it, as she began to warn he called.

"Police Department." A shudder and a breath. "I'll like to report a breakthrough in the Empire State Research Building."

**XxXxXxX**

**7:55 a.m.**

**_Click_.**

"Hey, little birdie." Exclaimed the Hammerhead from the inside of his jail. "Yeah, I'm speaking to you, idiot." He added, seeing as the man was yet to speak. His fist connected with his mattress. "Hey!" He shouted, trying and failing to get the attention of the guard outside his prison—the one who was serving his morning meal.

"Insulting a guard would only lead you to isolation." The blank-faced guard replied in a monotone voice. He was far from used to these insults. "Aggression and violence to any close object to you would lead for your meals to be shorten out." He added when he heard a plastic bottle connecting with the glass.

Hammerhead shrugged, eyeing his knuckles, tilting his head to the right. His gaze glazed over, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyed the wristwatch on the man's hand.

"Hey." Hammerhead tried one last time to call the man. Just as he slide close his eyes. "Open your eyes and see." He seethed.

"I told you—" The man craned his neck, just in time for his eyes to be _burn_. He screamed in tearing pain. _The lights_, every bulb, every lamp, every_ gleaming_ dot of light suddenly beamed as clear sunlight, a buzzing kind of sound resounded in the dense site, blaring rays of eye-blinding light pulsed brighter per second. The guard shielded his eyes, squeezing them shut, and a hand flying to touch them, to assure himself they were there. A shriek of confusion escaped his mouth.

"That's it." Hammerhead chuckled as the man fell to the ground, pulling his hair. "Didn't I try to warn you boy?" He said arrogantly. "Open the doors and it'll stop."

"It won't!" said the guard hoarsely. "You won't!" He said through watered eyes.

"Of course, it will." Promised the Hammerhead with a terse smile. "When have I ever lied in my life?"

The fool complied.

The slaughter began.

**XxXxXxX**

**6:26 a.m.**

**_Click_.**

"_You're close, Bench_." The Head Scientist assured through his earpiece. His voice sounded distorted by static. "_Very close_."

"How _much_ close?" Bench questioned as he was led through an old, unused, and pretty much_ narrowed _belowground railroad line. It looked almost like a subway place. Difference only in the whole emptiness and creepy, old stuff and all.

"_Close enough to say that this job will be over _soon enough_ for you to get back and waste your money senselessly_!" exclaimed gleefully the Head Scientist. "_Just imagine it! A beach, a girl and the soft glow of the sun on your face_. _What else should a man want?"_ The man concluded through his earpiece. Bench heard the dreamily sigh of the doctor through it.

"U-_hu_." Bench mumbled distractedly, but his motivation _did_ spike up at the comment. _Soon._ His eyes started searching for the description the doctor told him as he walked through the site.

_Goosebumps. _His skin was paled with them. A sudden panic rose on his throat when an alarm blasted on his ear. "Doc?" He called, fear thick.

"It's nothing to worry, Bench." The Head Scientist replied to his unsaid question. He could imagine the doctor waving his hand in dismissal. "It's just a plain, pre-programmed alarm warning us that the subject is close."

"Warning?" Bench echoed. Instantly, he came to a sudden halt. "How come '_warning_ us'? You said there was no risk in this!"

_"Tsk, tsk Bench."_ The laugh on the Head Scientist sounded nothing but dry this time. "_Every labor has his own sense of risk, don't you knew it as a crewman of illicit cargo ships?"_ The Scientist half-teased, half-implied through the line.

"Of course I know it!" Bench was screaming in fear now. "But it's different! This is an unknown place, with a fucking unknown damn thing! How can't I—" The next sentence died on his lips.

There it was.

"…Doc?" Bench whispered, face fear-stricken. "I-I can see it. I think…" He stopped mid-sentence. The _thing_, the subject, the whatever, started to move forward. It was, if he wasn't mistaken, though, you could call him crazy, the thing was, sort of, _eyeing_ him.

_"Open the case."_ The Head Scientist was stammering too. "_Open it like I taught you to_!" he ordered frantically. He heard awe on his voice. Of course _he'll_ be fascinated, he knew scientists will one day blow the Earth or something.

"Right." Bench muttered lowly. Slowly, he bended, his hand retracting behind his back for the suitcase the Head Scientist gave him to lock the creature. 'He could tend to be messy' the man had said. 'Nothing much'.

Nothing much.

Just as the creature saw the small reflection of the silvered suitcase. It threw itself to him. Bench cowered immediately, he heard the voice of the scientist on his ear, yelling at him. In that moment he felt more anger and fear than he had ever in his whole life. All wrap in the throat-closing idea of his death.

The **black** thing hurled to him.

Bench threw open the suitcase and yanked close with eyes closed tightly. His fingers were trembling, inch for inch his eyes merely opened. He sense his heart still on his chest, his arms, his legs, no harm on his body and . . . . as he looked around he saw_ nothing_ else.

He heard a muffled thud kind of sound.

Curving his head, his hand reaching he saw, he saw the suitcase moving. It was moving.

The thing _was_ moving.

"Okay," Breathed Bench. "Last work I do at land." He tapped his earpiece. "Doc, you there? . . . I, I have it." He said with a sigh of relief and disgust. "I have it. What do I do now?" He heard the stumbling of the creature inside the suitcase. He contained a shudder.

"Up to the surface." Replied the Head Scientist. The happy tone of his voice back. "Time's ready."

**XxXxXxX**

**7:25 a.m.**

**_Click_.**

"I must say your welcome, I guess." Eddie Brock said, half-snarling at the woman next to him. _Quite_ the woman next to him.

The woman smiled without demur. "Oh boy, there's no need to thank _me_." She said, her eyelashes fluttering almost shyly, if he knew. "Although, I'll ask you to call me Black Cat instead of you guessing what my name is."

The Black Cat purred the last part.

"Black Cat?" Brock repeated, tasting the name on his mouth. A sense of remembrance dawned on him abruptly. Images were flipped through his mind. Numerous fights, a mouth, a _kiss_, some villains, even more fights and, at the end, for a second longer he saw the full-extended image of Spider-man smiling behind his mask at something Cat said—The Black Cat.

"Brock?" Black Cat called. Cocking an eyebrow as she turned to him slightly.

As he was about to answer, somebody else spoke out loud. They turned their eyes to see a man leaning against a railing above them.

"Gentlemen and_ lady!_" The man with white hair in front of them welcomed with shine. "I welcomed you to the Silvermane family." His smile quirked upward. His eyes doing a quick scan of everybody and everyone. "Let's get this done for once right. I won't accept failure in your first mission." His smile was forced, his cheeks up. "Prove yourself to me and I'll reward you fairly enough."

Just as he spoke a set of choppers of an helicopter roared to life. "The mission's simple enough. Rescue one of our most memorable members from this family. Bring her in soundly safe and you won't have to worry for your pay for one second."

The villains looked skeptical. They turned and stared at each other. Finally, Electro stepped forward. "We agree." He replied and muttered "Sort of."

Silvermane smiled tersely.

Eddie Brock saw out of the corner of his eye Silvermane approached the Black Cat.

"I knew you wouldn't fail me." Silvermane echoed. "How could you?" He whispered in her ear.

"Yes. How could I?" The Black-leather covered woman said to him. "I'm the Black Cat after all, aren't I?" She leaned closer to his ear as she rumbled it.

Silverman chuckled. "Yes. I know that. I just . . . I'll say I was expecting some minor errors from your past to try and, shall we say, proclaim you?"

Her nails had the immediate urge to surge.

A smile curved on her slim lips.

"No man will proclaim me." Black Cat purred softly, leaning forward. Her eyes peered behind his back toward the hatch. Silvermane's did too. "I can't made them wait any longer, darling. Time's ticking."

"You won't and, _true_, time's ticking" Silvermane amused out loud as he gave his back to her. "I'll expect you to bring my second best girl back."

"I will." She promised as she left. "I always finish my works."

Time was ticking.

Plans were unraveling.

_"Heroes will fall."_ Black Cat thought as the Helicopter sore into the bright sky.

**XxXxXxX**

**8: 00 a.m.**

**_Click_.**

The bell rang just as he arrived. He'd opted for a plain, casual strolling through the New York City to help him ease his mind. Walking did help until some degree - the unmeasurable degree of sanity. He knew from the moment he'd started to hear his name being whispered and yelled by every human being littering the place, he knew things were just beginning to end. He needed time to sit and, really, allow himself to think.

But just as he took one step onward, his Spider-sense buzzed wildly, before he had time to react, the distant explosion came.

His head turned to it.

Although, the ear-splitting sound in front of him distract him more.

In dawning he knew - _time_ was the last thing he had.

**XxXxXxX**

**Author's Note: Review! Tell me what you think so far. Good? Bad?**


	11. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Stay tuned. The story would end on Chapter 16 with Epilogue and all. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

_XxXxXxX_

**At Your Mercy****: **_Chapter 10_

Peter Parker.

What the heck have you gotten yourself into?

The question was particularly accurate, quite sensitive and with the implication of an ending which won't be nothing but despondent for the hero.

So, in reply he will probably say.

**Death.**

The most precise, correct and truthful end for him.

_Am I ready? _

Perhaps not.

_XxXxXxX_

His heart was hammering in his chest. Peter blinked, pressing a hand to his eyelids _hard_. Daring himself to stay awake and alert. He struggled to sit down, he was on the floor, his face was upside down, facing the ground. Recognition hurled through him. In seconds he bolted upright. His limbs in direct disagreement with the sudden movement, they burned. He couldn't bring himself to care.

"What the –" Peter breathed. Around him, he witnessed several bodies spread around in different places. Students holding their heads with both hands, clearly in pain. His traveled farther and they saw a figure standing up in dominance over the front steps, his heart skipped a beat, his mouth hanged open, his senses boomed alert.

He was frozen in fear.

"Well, well kiddos!" The Green Goblin hollered to the crowd of kneeling, frightful people. "The pleasure is mine to see _you_ finally!" He exclaimed, voice thick with indirect meaning, a meaning anybody else wouldn't be able to detect, anybody else who failed to discern his tainted words - anybody who didn't know his vault of tricks.

Maybe that vault was deeper than he expected.

He felt betrayed, his blood ran cold as he thought of every single wasted second he lost at the mourning of the villain.

Now Peter recognized, blatantly honest. He did mourn the man.

Peter gritted his teeth, wanting to smash them down. To break every single breakable thing.

To hurl the grinning face of the GREEN GOBLIN back to the bitter dirt.

Nothing more than dust.

"You're dead!" Someone amid the group shouted.

"_Am I?"_ The Green Goblin countered back cynically, all mockery in his movements. "Jameson isn't always right, either is the police, any hero of yours truly is!" He winked at them. "But you don't have any hero anymore, am _I _wrong…?" He trailed off. A smirk playing on his lips.

Peter was devouring his anger, fists clenched together, his muscles tensed. A minute longer and he would tossed aside any secret identity and fling to him, just to erase that wicked look from his face.

Peter darted his eyes, searching for a way out, founding none in an explicit way. Then again, he couldn't leave all this people in here for much. What if the Goblin tried something when he left? He had already blown the front entrance, why not the testifiers also?

His mind clicked._ The crowd, I can cover myself with it. If I just stay low and quiet… _Peter smiled weakly and tentatively despite all._ I _do _know how to do that._

The Green Goblin began to speak, voice reaching every corner, everybody listened with ears perked up.

"Oh, as I was saying I'm not here for mere greeting." The Green Goblin said. "Let's say I had some _minor_ issues to finish, I came directly from the death of my life here to face them again!"

Like two pair of growling dogs the Goblin's eyes stared hard. Without breaking it he fished out something from his boot. Peter knitted his eyebrows in confusion when he saw the villain allocate something in his forehead, it seemed as some of microchip, similar to the design of his spider-trackers but the size was a little bigger, resembling a patch.

"_Itsy, bitsy __Spider __went up the water spout__**, **d__own came the rain and washed the spider out…"_ The Green Goblin sing-sang. Notes broken in a foul style. His hand went to his forehead in a silent manner, pressing the patch alive.

Just as he was about to snort non-comically Peter gasped quietly at the end of the sentence.

He collapsed all the way back down to the floor. Knees giving up his weight. Palms facing the cold ground_. It was cold._ The world slowed down around him, edges blurring and mixing to the point where all came to an abrupt halt.

"…_Out came the sun and dried up all the rain __and the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again…"_

He was paused. Then, out of nothing, they twirled him _on. _Electricity shot through his body, traveling through his veins. He felt every single organ inside of him being excerpted to the end of override.

He was well-aware what an override of a system meant—it wasn't pretty.

"…_The big humongous spider went up the water spout__**,** d__own came the rain__**  
**__and washed the spider out…"_

Pain. His vision glazed over with unshed tears. His throat constricted forcefully. His lungs ached for air. _God, where's the air? _His heart was pulsing, beating, struggling to pump fast enough causing a hand to fly up to his chest, material crinkling as he grasped the front of his chest for dear life. My life.

Was this the way death felt? Pulsating seconds before the lash was condemned.

"…_Out came the sun and dried up all the rain __and the big humongous spider went up the spout again." _The Green Goblin whispered at last. VICTORY IN HIS EYES.

Peter slammed his eyes shut. Lips pressed together, face paper-white and sweat dripping as he was trying to contain the yells that wanted, oh how they wanted to escape from the deep of his esophagus. Granted, a cry of pain.

The fear stink in the air. Nervous voices whispered frantically around him—he just wanted to throw up.

His eyes rose, challenging and reminding him what he should be seeing. The Goblin was there, his eyes scanning the crowd for . . . something.

His mouth became dry in understanding.

He was here . . . for Spider-man.

He knew.

And he was here for him.

"It cannot be." Peter stuttered as another wave of pain hit him. "It just can't." His head was throbbing. He needed to get out. His legs were failing to respond to his commands. He needed to escape. Faintly, he began to taste the flavor of metal, acid metal on his mouth.

Then again, he was lost.

Peter awaited the moment, his eyes stinging without reason, he blinked but it was no use. The instant came and he locked eyes with his long-time nemesis.

The Green Goblin took a step back, surprise written all over his face. Eyebrows faintly creased together, smiled unknown of what was far in sight.

"Parker." The Villain spoke out loud, practically tasting the name on his mouth, people around Peter thought they misheard the villain, glancing everywhere searching for said invisible person and the reason why a murderer would know him. Lack of words between the two of them make the people turned to the Goblin for answers and as they saw the smile turn into a full-blast, cold fury grin they were perplexed even more.

The Green Goblin aimed to him, feet dangling and jumping confidently as out of nowhere his glider appeared flying to his creator. "It was you after all."

Peter's eyes widened.

The crowd gasped and yelled, face fear-stricken as they saw the murderous take hold—in a vicious yank—of Peter Parker and rose into the air…


End file.
